


A Series of Firsts

by cartoonmoomba



Category: Final Fantasy XIII Series, Lightning Returns: Final Fantasy XIII
Genre: Claire's PoV, Drama, F/M, Romance, Time Travel AU, and, character and emotion driven over plot, don't let those deceive you, kid!Claire, short-story - Freeform, slow-burn, this is a tragedy in the making, warning you now, with humour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-06-13
Packaged: 2018-03-15 21:16:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 25,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3462383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cartoonmoomba/pseuds/cartoonmoomba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Claire first meets their new neighbors when she is seven. OR, that one AU where Lightning fails as the savior and Hope and Snow go back in time to ensure that the future never happens. BONUS: HOPE ESTHEIM up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The One With The Giant Man (and His Stupid Younger Brother)

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Final Fantasy XIII does not belong to me.
> 
> Author’s Note: This will be entirely written from Claire’s perspective, and so the first few chapters where she is a child take a bit to get through. Bear with me. Also, please drop me a review if you enjoy this!

_The One With The Giant Man (and His Stupid Younger Brother)_

_._

_._

* * *

 

 

Claire first meets their new neighbours when she is seven. It is difficult not to – one of them has a laugh loud enough to wake her up from the afternoon nap she’s been put to. Weighing her curiosity about the strange laughter in her house against the wrath of her mother at seeing her daughter awake, Claire throws a look at her sister to make sure Serah is still sleeping before sneaking out of the bedroom.

She tiptoes through their narrow hallway and peeks out around a corner. Her mother stands at their front door, smiling at a giant blond man who towers over her and dwarfs their front entrance. Beside him, much shorter, stands a teenage boy with silver hair and his hands stuck in his pockets.

Claire wrinkles her nose. She hates teenagers, who are always mean to her and tug at her pink hair and tease her with stupid names.  

The blond giant’s gaze slides past her mother and straight to Claire before the girl can duck back out of sight. They stare at each other for a few surprised seconds before his face lights up with a smile large enough that Claire has to wonder as to how his face isn’t breaking apart.

“And who’s this?” He calls out in her direction, interrupting whatever conversation he was having with her mother and bringing the attention of all three of them straight to her. Claire can feel the hotness spreading at the tips of her ears at all the eyes suddenly on her, and especially at the look of ire that passes across her mother’s face.

“Claire,” the woman chides with a sigh in her voice, motioning for her daughter to get out from behind her corner. “What are you doing awake?”

Claire’s eyes slide over to the stupid adult who got her in trouble with her mother. “It was loud.” Defensively, she crosses her arms and does her best to imitate her mother and turns an accusing stare at the man. To her surprise, his face adopts such a look of shame that she almost feels bad for him. _Almost._

“Sorry, Elize.” The giant reaches up to rub one massive hand against the back of his even more massive head. “I guess I didn’t realize how loud I was being.” The boy beside him snorts. Claire notices that he’s still staring in her direction and turns her intimidating look on him. Instead of the shame she was hoping would come over him, he only smiles at her instead. Claire tries not to pout.

Her mother sighs. “It’s fine. I guess since you’re already here, Claire, I might as well introduce you. Come here.” The eyes of their two guests track her as she crosses their living room to go stand beside her mother, settling in at her side and leaning into the reassuring hand the woman places on her shoulder. Claire had known the man in front of her was a giant, but he didn’t seem quite _this_ big from the other side of the room. And the boy beside him just _would not stop staring_. Claire averts her eyes, suddenly feeling shy.

One of her mother’s fingers tap against her shoulder, requesting that Claire be polite. Claire drags her eyes away from her feet with some reluctance and tries to be brave with all the attention focused on her. “Hello,” she manages out. “I’m Claire Farron. Nice to meet you.”

She notices that the smile on the boy’s face has grown even bigger, and she tries not to scowl at him. They had just met, and he _already_ thought there was something funny about her. She _hated_ teenagers. They were all _stupid_.

The giant crouches down in front of her and sticks out one hand. “Hello, Claire,” he grins, and up close he doesn’t actually look as scary. Claire might even call him _friendly_ looking, now that his height is more approachable. She places one of her hands in his and is surprised at how careful he is not to shake it too hard. Not all adults were as considerate. “I’m Snow Villiers, and this is my brother, Hope. We’re your new neighbours.”

She chances a look at this Hope, who gives her a little wave when he notices her staring. He’s still smiling, and it’s making Claire angry. She can feel her ears turn red again and looks away. “You don’t look like an adult,” she tells Mr. Villiers instead. “Adults don’t have hair that messy.”

“Claire!” Her mother responds, the grip she has on her daughter’s shoulder tightening. “That was rude! Apologize to Snow, please.”

Claire blinks up at her. “But whenever my hair is like that, you always make me sit down and brush it. His is worse!”

Mr. Villiers laughs before either of the two can continue and straightens. One of his hands goes to mess with his hair again, which is long and in a really dire need of a haircut. Claire considers suggesting her mother for the job, who always cuts hers and Serah’s hair whenever it gets too long. “It’s fine, Elize, she really does have a point. It has been getting pretty bad these past few years.”

The silver haired boy finally speaks, and Claire is surprised at how young he sounds. “And yet when I tell you to do it, you completely ignore me.” His smile turns to a grimace when the man brings down one hand and rubs at his brother’s head. “Really, Snow?”

Mr. Villiers laughs. Claire still finds it intimidating. “Whatever you say, Chocobo-head.” Claire tilts her head and peers closely at Hope’s hair; after a moment, she giggles. His hair really _does_ look like the Chobocos she’s seen in her books.

The boy pauses, and his grimace turns into a small smile directed at her. Claire narrows her eyes at him.

“Is Serah still sleeping?” Her mother’s question interrupts the glaring content she is itching to begin with the stupid teenager, and Claire nods. “Alright. I want you back in that room as well, Claire.”

Claire does pout this time, large enough that she can feel her lower lip wobbling. “But I’m not _tired_ ,” she insists, turning her gaze to her mother and trying to make her eyes as wide as she’s sometimes seen Serah do. “I don’t want to sleep!”

Her mother only smiles, and winds one hand through her daughter’s hair. “No complaints, Claire. Back to bed. Now.”

The eyes _always_ work when Serah does them. _Always._ It wasn’t _fair_.

“It was nice to meet you,” the teenager tells her as she begins trudging away, tucking her chin close to her chest in defeat. She glances over her shoulder at his voice and really wishes her mother wasn’t watching so that she could stick her tongue out at him. Stupid, smiling teenager who thinks he can make fun of her only minutes after meeting her.

“You too,” she says instead, and waves to the giant and his stupid little brother.

How was she supposed to sleep now, knowing that her new neighbour was a stupid _boy_?


	2. The One Where Crafty Is Not About Arts & Crafts

_The One Where Crafty Is Not About Arts & Crafts_

_._

_._

* * *

 

Claire first tries Snow's attempt at cooking not even a full week later, opening the door to come face to face with Hope Villiers.  
  
He stares at her. He seems to do it a lot. She wonders if he is sick, and somehow can’t help it. "Hi."   
  
She stares back at him. "Hello." Her eyes are level with the plastic covered tray he’s holding in his hands, his knuckles stark white at where he’s gripping it. An enticing smell wafts out from underneath the cover, of chocolate and something burnt. "What's that?"  
  
Hope's eyes glance down to follow her question and his hands clench around the metal tray he's holding, almost as if he had forgotten he had been holding it in the first place. Claire sends him a weird look - who would forget about chocolate treats? "Oh, right, well - Snow decided he wanted to try baking, so he made some cookies for you guys. They might, um, not be completely edible. I don't think he's all that good at baking, to be honest."   
  
Cookies! Claire loves cookies. Especially ones with chocolate. Their giant new neighbour seems to be getting less and less scary every time she interacts with him (or his cookies. He made them cookies!) "Thank you!" She beams out at Hope (who she still doesn't like, because teenage boys are mean, and he won't stop staring like there's something funny on her face).   
  
Which he seems to be doing again. Claire really wants to try these cookies, so she doesn't demand from him as to what's so funny about her. She'll get around to it next time, when he's not holding chocolate goods in his hands. "Here, I guess." The cookies change hands and safely into her grasp. She can smell them even better now - even the part that suggests they're burnt to some degree. Which is okay, because Serah likes it when they're crispy.   
  
She shifts on her feet, anxious to go back inside and try them before her mother notices and tells her "not before dinner", but her mother taught her to be polite and the boy on her front porch isn't leaving. Shutting the door in his face would result in one long lecture from her mother, if she were around to witness it. So Claire keeps the door propped open, cookies in hand, and stares at the weird boy staring at her.  
  
He clears his throat. "So..." Claire's brow furrows. Usually when boys were about to be mean to her, they had ugly smiles on their faces and did not stand around silent with lost looks on their faces. Maybe this one was just even more weird than all the other ones she’s met.  
  
"So, what do you like to do, Claire?" Claire's brows furrow even further. Teenage boys did NOT ask her questions about what she liked to do, unless they wanted to have something to tease her about with (other than the color of her hair). Maybe this boy wasn't weird as much as crafty - that's a word they learned in class last week. It did not have anything to do with arts and crafts, either.   
  
"I like to draw," she finally says, to which Hope makes a surprised noise as if he hadn't expected that answer. Claire immediately feels defensive - she happened to be good at drawing, even her teacher had said so!   
  
"Drawing, huh?" Claire hopes he feels stupid under the look she's giving him. She JUST said she liked drawing, he didn't have to repeat it and sound so amazed by it. "What do you like to draw?"   
  
Claire examines him - the way he shifts on his feet as if nervous, his hands back in his pocket now that he's no longer holding her cookies. What did he have to be nervous about? He was the bully here, not her, with all his weird staring and questions. Teenage boys were certainly crafty. "Chocobos," she decides to answer after a few moments of silence. "And Moogles." Granted, the only Moogles she had ever seen were in mythology books, but they were cute and almost as fun to draw as chocobos.  
  
Hope's mouth lifts into a small smile. "Moogles, huh?" He's smiling like he knows something she doesn't. Claire doesn't like it.   
  
"Do you know what Moogles are?" She asks, a bit snootily like some of the girls at her school who go up to her and ask her where her father is. They usually back off when she tells them he's dead, taken by a sickness not even the fal'Cie could cure. She doesn't ask Hope where his and Snow's parents are for this reason, even though she really wants to know. She hasn't seen anyone but Snow Hope come and go in the next house over.   
  
"Yes, I do. They're very cute." The answer pacifies her, though she wishes just a bit that he had said no so that she could have told him. Claire is very proud that she knows things some other kids her age don't.   
  
"Oh." She wonders if Serah and her mother are awake yet. Their mother had gotten home later than usual from work last night, and Serah had insisted that she take an afternoon nap with her. Claire hadn't felt sleepy, and that turned out nicely because now she had cookies. Which she really wanted to eat before dinner.   
  
"So..." She drags out the word, much like he had just done, caught between being polite and eating her cookies. "What do you like to do?"   
  
Hope tilts his head to the side, the silver of his hair catching in the sun. Claire tries not to giggle - his hair was even weirder than hers, but she knows how much it hurts to be teased about it. "I like to build things," he says.   
  
He liked to build things? What kind of answer was that? "What do you like to build? Like... Robots?" Claire likes robots. Whenever they go somewhere that has service robots, the robots are always nice to her. The robots are nicer than some people. She could maybe like Hope, if he also liked robots. Especially if he knew how to build them.   
  
Her question makes him pause, and much like his brother, he reaches up to rub at the back of his head. "Uh, I guess robots would fall in that category, yeah. I like to work on things that help people…” He trails off, and Claire feels as if he thinks she wouldn’t be able to understand whatever “teenager” words he is about to say. But still, he liked robots. Claire feels conflicted.  
  
And then she hears her mother calling her name from the back of the house, and realizes with a sinking feeling in her stomach that she won’t be able to eat the cookies before dinner, after all. All because this boy would not leave her front porch and forced her to be polite to him.  
  
Claire hated teenage boys. Especially crafty ones, like Hope Villiers. 

 


	3. The One Where Hope is Horrible At Naming Worlds and You Can’t Just ‘Build’ A fal’Cie, Silly

_The One Where Hope is Horrible At Naming Worlds and You Can’t Just ‘Build’ A fal’Cie, Silly_

_._

_._

* * *

 

 

The first time Claire is babysat by Hope, it is because Serah Farron absolutely loves Snow Villiers. Claire is not entirely sure why, because typically it takes much coaxing and sweets to convince her little sister to talk to strangers, though she suspects it is because the man is so big that he has no issues lifting up her sister and flying her around in circles.

“How about you, Claire?” Said neighbour calls over to her from where he’s holding Serah aloft, making zooming noises as he sweeps her in arcs in the vicinity around him. Serah’s giggles fill the air as she extends her arms and makes noises along with him, her cheeks bright pink and her hair getting caught up in her mouth from where it’s escaping her ponytails. “Want me to fly you around before I go?”

Claire’s face flushes, starting with her ears as it typically does and coloring her entire face red. “No thank you,” she replies, because she is seven (almost eight!) and she does _not_ like to still be treated like a little girl. Serah is allowed to do this because Serah is _little_ , but Claire is older. Claire is _not_ jealous of Serah for getting to fly around in the air like that.

Stupid Teenager Hope, sitting beside her on the front porch of the Villiers’ house, chuckles. Claire suspects it’s because he knows what she is thinking – he seems to be very good at talking to her, and Claire refuses to believe it’s because of anything other than mind reading powers. No teenager (and no boy, especially!) can be that nice, or that good at talking to girls.

“Awwwww!” Serah voices her opinion at being set back down on the ground quite loudly in front of them, though her face lights up again when Mr. Villiers reaches down to tug at her two pigtails. “Don’t go!” She exclaims, springing forward to try her best to latch on around his waist. But her little sister is short, and Mr. Villiers is huge, and so Serah is left hugging one of his legs close to her.

Claire sighs. She just doesn’t get it – her sister doesn’t even hug _her_ like that anymore. What makes Mr. Villiers so special?

The man laughs and tries to fix Serah’s bangs, which are so messy that Claire has to wince – their mother would have a small fit, were she to see Serah’s hair like that. “Work calls, kiddo,” he says, and gives up on fixing Serah’s hair after another moment. He pats her on the head instead and tries to remove her little body from around his leg. “But you and Hope and Claire will have tons of fun, so you won’t even miss me!”

Serah does her wide eyed look with the pouting lips, the one that Claire just can’t right for the life of her. “I always miss you,” she replies and Claire can almost _see_ the moment the man dies a little inside from how absolutely adorable her sister is. Claire knows this to be a fact – strangers stop on the streets to coo over Serah. It makes Claire feel nervous, like some random person is going to just come and snatch her little sister while their mother isn’t looking.

(She feels a little jealous… but only a little. Because Serah still loves _her_ best. It’s a proven fact.)

“Don’t worry,” Hope tells her (like he’s reading her mind! Again!) and reaches over to pat her on the head, much like his brother just did with Serah. “You’re adorable, too.”

“I _don’t_ care about that!” Claire squeaks out, mortified and swearing that her entire face is on fire; she ducks out from under his hand and shuffles farther away from him. “Shut _up,_ Hope!”

The teenager laughs her at her and stands up, hands in his pockets as he calls out for Serah to join them back at the house. Her sister stares at Mr. Villiers’ back for a few moments longer as the man leaves for work before turning around and running up to them, her face already brighter as she attaches herself to Claire. Claire clenches one hand in her sister’s shirt. Mr. Villiers was _not_ going to steal Serah away from her.

(Not that she didn’t trust Mr. Villiers – he seemed like an okay adult, and their mother trusted him enough to babysit them, but Serah just _adored_ him. Claire didn’t like it.)

Hope leads them inside the house and shuts the front door. Serah is immediately off, running towards the couch in the living room and exclaiming over the rather large TV screen the two brothers have set up. Claire, instead, takes the time to inspect the Villiers’ residence for the first time – the inside looks identical to their house, but with different wallpaper and furniture setup. She tries to see if there are any picture frames anywhere in the room but comes up empty – she feels sad for them, just a little, because even though her father is dead, her mother keeps a picture of him in the living room all the same. Claire wonders if whatever happened to Mr. and Mrs. Villiers was so bad that Hope and Mr. Villiers didn’t like the reminder.

Hope must have caught her looking, because he comes up to stand closer to her and squeezes her shoulder. “It’s not really lived in in, I know,” he offers, smiling down at her as if she is supposed to feel better after his words. Claire is caught up between being embarrassed and insulted, and still feeling sad for him. She settles on a mild glare and wrenching her shoulder away from him.

“So, what are we going to do?” She asks and goes to join Serah on the couch, who has by now found the remote and is clicking through all the channels with a glazed look over her eyes. “I hope you weren’t planning on letting us watch TV all day, because our mom doesn’t like that.”

Hope’s mouth shuts, and Claire sends him a suspicious look. “You _do_ have something planned, right? You’re not a very good babysitter if you don’t.” Hope’s eyes slide away from hers and to her giddy excitement, she can see his face turning pink. She wants to dance because Stupid Teenager Hope has _finally_ messed up and she can make fun of him!

“My parents used to let me do that,” she thinks she hears him mumble, but that can’t be right, because if there are no photos, then certainly a teenager like him won’t want to talk to her about his missing family. So she ignores it and keeps on grinning wide, like she’s finally won. Which she has.

She also wonders if he has a robot building station somewhere, since he likes to makes things. So she asks him.

“What?” Now Hope is looking at her like _she’s_ the stupid one. “Why would I have something like that?”

“You like to build things,” Claire states, hands on her hips as she sits up on the couch and eyes him. “So I want to see you build something. Like a robot.”

They stare at each other for a moment longer before he smiles, but it looks weird. Claire has only seen her mother smile like that. “Alright. I’ll build you a fal’Cie,” he says, and Claire bursts out laughing. She _knew_ he was a stupid teenager, even with his mind reading powers.

“Nobody can _build_ a fal’Cie,” she says in the same way her teacher answered the question from one of her classmates once, all nonsense and patience. “Don’t be silly, Hope.”

The teenager grins at her and walks over to lean on the back of the couch she and Serah are sitting on. “Okay. How about an entire world, then? It’ll be just like Cocoon. I’ll build it just for you.”

The question makes Claire pause. She knows that there is no way Hope can build a world like that, that only the fal’Cie can, and if he can’t build that then he certainly can’t make an entire _world_. But still, a world just for her? “What would you name it?” She asks because she’s curious – if she had an entire world to herself, then she’d name it something fun. Like after a Chocobo, or a Moogle. Or maybe _Claire’s Super Duper World of Fun (No Boys Allowed!)._

Hope says a word that she can’t quite understand, and she scrunches up her nose in response. “What a weird name. Why would you name it something like _that_?”

“Why indeed,” he laughs, and it sounds like her mom’s laughter, sometimes when she thinks that no one is around to see her talk to the photo of their father in the living room. All of a sudden Claire is uncomfortable and she doesn’t know why.

“I’m hungry,” she demands instead because as it turns out, talking about robots with Hope is not as fun as she expected. “What did you make for us?”

The awkward look is back on his face again, and Claire feels victorious. “You _did_ make us something to eat, right? If you feed us junk food, our mom won’t be happy!”

Stupid Teenager Hope _sucks_ at babysitting, and Claire decides that teasing him back about is _great._

(He tries to make them pasta. He fails, so they end up eating mac and cheese heated up in a pot. When their mother comes to pick them up, Claire decides not to tell her, because despite all the silly things about Stupid Teenager Hope, he’s a Stupid Teenager who at least doesn’t tug at her hair.) 


	4. The One Where Being Twelve Sucks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting there!

_The One Where Being Twelve Sucks_

_._

_._

* * *

The first time Claire realizes that she might have a crush on Hope is when she is twelve and suddenly he is a student at the prestigious Eden University and her neighbour all at once and Serah just  _will not stop teasing her about it_.

"He's here for three more days!" Her little sister giggles from where she is leaning over the armrest of the couch, braiding Claire's hair with deft fingers and a bright yellow hair band. "You should go talk to him!"

Claire tries to sink in further into the cushions and wishes that her little sister was normal, because when Claire was her age, she did  _not_ like the idea of stupid boys and stupid crushes and stupid  _Hope Villiers_. Serah was just  _weird_  – and Hope was too old for her, anyway!

(Well, when she was twenty-five he would be thirty-two and that wasn't  _that_ big of an age difference, and she knew people who were married who had an age gap similar to that  _but it's not like she has ever seriously considered this_ —)

"Hello?" Said stupid Hope Villiers calls out from her front door, which has been left ajar for him to let himself in. There was something wrong with the plumbing in their kitchen sink, and their mother was too tired to fix it herself and Hope – the nice, handsome, next door neighbour  _shut up Claire you are not thinking this_ – had offered to come fix it when it came up at brunch earlier on in the day.

"Hope!" Serah squeals next to her ear and jumps off her armchair, racing towards the silver haired boy with her arms spread out. "You're here!"

He lets her fling herself at him and embraces her back, all the while laughing into her hair. "I was just here this morning, Serah. Did you miss me that much?"

"Claire and I  _always_ miss you, Hope." Serah grins at her from where she's still hugging him. "Isn't that right, Claire?"

Claire's fingers clench around the math book she's trying to get through and absolutely refuses to look in the direction of her evil little sister and their neighbour. "Hi, Hope."

And because he's Hope, who rarely leaves her alone when she really wishes he would (not really, she likes the attention, and the way he smiles at her, and the way his hair looks in the sunlight, and—) he comes over and leans against the back of her couch to peer closer at what she's reading. Out of the corner of her eye she can see him make a sympathetic face at her equations. "Math, huh? Do you want any help with that?"

"Yes, she does!" Serah pipes in before Claire can reply, weaving around him and flopping back down in her armchair. "Claire  _hates_ math. It's her worst subject."

"It is not!" Claire's face turns slightly red even though it is the complete truth, and she really  _would_ like some help because she doesn't want to fail her class, but she doesn't want Hope – who's studying some sort of complicated science  _thing_ at  _Eden University_ – to know. "I'm doing just fine!"

Hope's laugh brushes against her hair and her face turns red for an entirely different reason. "Well, if you change your mind, let me know." His hand comes to rest on her head for a short moment as he straightens and Claire is reminded of just how childish she must appear to him. Being twelve kind of  _sucked_.

"Where's your mom?" He asks, and she turns around to watch him pace back to the front door and the toolbox he dropped to catch Serah's embrace. She watches as he leans down and begins to sort through it, searching for whatever it is that will apparently fix their sink.

"She's still sleeping," Serah pipes up from beside her, her attention already turning to the cartoon that's coming onto the TV. "She's been asleep since you and Snow left this morning. It's not fair! When I want to sleep in, I can't. But  _she_ gets to do it all the time."

From her angle Claire can see the way his face suddenly turns sad - Hope's entire expression drops and for a second she thinks he might actually be in physical pain. She almost asks him if something's wrong before his grimace smoothes itself out and he rises back up, tools in hand. "I'll try to be quiet then," he states, and disappears in the direction of their kitchen. Claire watches him go and tries to decide – her math textbook, or Hope? He  _had_ been away for the past few weeks finishing up his midterms, and she really does want to know what he's been doing recently…

(And if he has a girlfriend. She finds herself really,  _really_ wanting to know.)

She sneaks a look at Serah, who is completely enamoured with her TV show, and drops her textbook on the couch. Serah giggles as she leaves in the direction he had just gone in and Claire wishes she had a pillow to throw at her.

Inside the kitchen, only half of Hope is visible as he sits under their counters and rummages through whatever is there. Claire kind of wants to ask if she can help, because she thinks it would be a good idea to know how to fix their frequently breaking sink the next time her mom is too tired and Hope is at school, but staring at Hope (even if it's half of him) when he can't see her do so is just too tempting.

"Hi Claire," his voice comes from underneath the counter and she jumps.

"How did you know it was me?" With a nonchalance she doesn't feel, she plops herself down at the stools by the kitchen island and leans her head on one hand to watch him. Hope's chuckle floats out from somewhere behind the plumbing she can now see from her angle, making the tips of her ears turn slightly red. She had really hoped she would grow out of that one, but she just has  _no_ luck whatsoever.

"Serah's always making some sort of noise when she walks," he replies and Claire almost giggles – she clamps it down and smiles with her teeth digging into her bottom lip instead. Her sister  _did_ have a tendency to hum or giggle to herself a lot. "Besides, I always know when you're there."

The blood rushes to Claire's face again, making her glad once again that Hope can't actually  _see_ her. "How do you do that?"

There comes the sound of Hope tinkering with something for a few moments before his face emerges, framed by messy hair that – much like his brother – almost always needs a haircut. "You just have a presence around you. It's easy to tell when you're in the room." He grins at her and Claire's heart feels like it is going to either stop, or burst out of her chest due to the frantic pace it's beating at.

(She remembers hating Hope. It was almost  _easier_.)

"O-oh." Embarrassed, she turns her eyes away from his face and to the patterns on the marble surface she's leaning against.

"Ah, sorry Claire, I didn't mean to embarrass you."  _Liar_ , she thinks and dares to look up and send him a glare. She  _knows_ Hope Villiers, and he never stopped being crafty. He catches her glare and because he can read her mind (she doesn't really believe that, not anymore – except  _sometimes_ it's like he knows her better than she does) and winks at her before disappearing back into the pipes.

"How were the midterms?" Claire finally asks after several minutes of companionable silence (with the exception of her still crazy heart, but she is glad he can't actually hear it).

"Not too bad," the reply comes from the darkness and then a grunt, and the sound of him swearing to himself. Claire hides her smile into the palm of her hand. "I'm pretty sure one of the professors has it in for me for some reason so I won't be surprised if I get a bad grade on that one, but—" And then he emerges again, sneezing from the dust she's sure he's unsettled underneath their sink, and shrugs at her. "But I don't think you really care about that. Don't let me ruin your expectations for Eden, by the way. It's a great place. I'm glad I managed to get in." A strange look passes over his face then, and she thinks that for a second he's lost himself somewhere in his head. She's noticed that he does that, sometimes.

"I always want to hear what you have to say," Claire says and before he can make a teasing reply back to her, rushes on. "And I doubt I'd actually get in there. Everyone keeps talking about how hard the entrance exams are and my grades aren't the best…" She trails off when she notices him smiling at her again, and averts her eyes to the side. "What?"

"You've still got a long way to go before you have to actually worry about that." He hefts himself up and turns around to test out the knobs – it turns and she watches as the water first comes out full of rust, and then turns clear again and keeps going. Hope twists it back off and claps his hands in satisfaction. "There we go! This shouldn't trouble you for a while longer, now."

"Thanks," Claire says on behalf of their mother, who she is surprised hasn't awoken yet from the work in the kitchen. Hope turns to grin at her again and reaches for a towel to dry his hands with.

"And don't worry about the math," he says to her, a grin stretching his face apart – but unlike his brother, it looks softer on him and miles kinder. Sometimes, Claire likes to imagine that it was only that way when he smiled at her. "Whenever I'm home, I'll come over and tutor you. I promise."

And just like that, Claire can feel herself turning red again and she  _knows_ he knows. He would have to be blind not to notice her face turn the color of a tomato.

Stupid, crafty, Hope Villiers.

And stupid,  _stupid_ Claire for actually liking him.


	5. The One Without Loneliness

The first time Claire cries in front of Hope Villiers is when she is fifteen and they are burying her mother in the ground.

The small graveyard is silent except for the sounds of Serah’s wailing and Claire’s sniffling, the sea breeze of Bodhum all too cheerful and familiar for the occasion. Claire can barely even see her sister, who’s so wrapped up in Snow as he tries to comfort her that only the pink of her hair is visible against the stark black of their clothes. The funeral party consists of only them four – wellwishers from her mother’s work, and the several friends she managed to keep in-between her working schedule have already come and gone and the four of them have been standing in front of her mother’s tombstone for the past half hour, silent and uncertain.

The tears just will not stop coming from Claire’s eyes and she rubs away at them, frustrated because she was doing so well about not crying, too. Hope’s arm around her shoulder tightens and she lets herself be drawn into the embrace. The suit jacket he has on still has its new-clothes smell and for some reason that makes the tears come even faster, until she realizes she’s been sobbing into his chest (and his new jacket, too) for so long that her eyes are now stinging and her throat feels raw.

“It’s okay,” he tells her before she even starts moving away, the grip he has on her tightening for a moment before it turns gentle again. “I don’t mind.”

“Okay,” she mutters into his chest and closes her eyes. “Where’s Serah?” She asks once she realizes that she can’t hear her sister’s grieving anymore, pulling away in a slight panic as the thought sets in.

Hope lets her go this time, his hands dropping to rest at her elbows, and she is immensely glad because she feels like if he lets her go, she’ll suddenly have no one to turn to and then it will be just her and Serah alone in the world. “Snow took her home a while ago,” he tells her and she stills.

“I didn’t realize I was… sorry.” A silence drops between them as he lets her be with her thoughts, which turn this way and that until she has difficulty breathing and the ground spins out from underneath her. When she opens her eyes (she hadn’t realized she had even closed them) she’s sitting on the ground, still held onto by Hope as he sits beside her.

“It’s okay to talk to me about what you’re going through,” he says to her quietly and she looks at him, kind and sad and almost asks him, for the first time in all their eight years of knowing each other, _how did your parents die?_

But instead, what comes out is, “Serah and I are all alone now. I don’t know what I can do. There’s nothing I _can_ do.” She could get emancipated (if _that_ would even go through), take care of Serah and find a job that would pay enough to keep them alive, something like the military or the Guardian Corps sect in Bodhum—

“You have me and Snow,” Hope says then, one hand moving to grip her shoulder in comfort. “It’s not even a question of what’s going to happen, Claire. Snow and I will take care of you.” He pauses and a look of uncertainty passes across his face. “If you’re okay with that, of course, but even if you’re not Snow and I will _still_ take care of you and Serah as much as we can. You’ll never have to deal with this alone—“

She cuts him off by throwing herself at him because she’s crying again, and because he’s such a good _friend_ , and she _doesn’t_ want to deal with this alone. She would walk to the ends of Cocoon for her sister’s happiness and safety – but Claire is still fifteen, and she is scared, but she is _not alone_.

His hands come up around her back and hug her back. “Everything will be okay,” Hope promises, and Claire believes him.

* * *

 

.

.

* * *

 

The papers for Snow to obtain legal guardianship over Serah and Claire go through surprisingly quickly, but no one dares question it in worry of some sort of error being found and the decision redacted. The Farron house is gutted of anything they can fit into the Villiers’ residence as the two sisters move in, but barely a month passes before Snow sits them down at breakfast one morning and suggests they move to Eden.

It’ll be good for Hope, he says, who is still a student there and as a masters candidate, does not have as much free time to visit back in Bodhum as before. The public schools for Claire and Serah there are good too, and Snow can easily get transferred into the Eden branch of the government job he’s working at. It’ll be a pretty big change of scenery, but it is something to consider.

The two talk it through the night, because moving away from Bodhum – the place where all their memories are, for Claire of their father, too – would be hard but at the same time they can’t take living next to their house anymore, because even if it is up for sale and some family will eventually move in, it will always be _theirs_ and they will always remember their mother.

So they pack up and move to Eden and life goes on. Hope keeps to his word and visits the two as much as he can inbetween classes and thesis papers and tutors them in subjects they find difficult, and entertains them with stories of his studies, and makes sure that they always have someone to talk to when they need it. Snow gets swamped at work as he begins working with the Cavalry unit but tries his best to do the same, and drags them out to events around the city in a bid to distract them from their gloom.

Claire and Serah are not alone after their mother’s death, and they visit Bodhum for the annual fireworks every year, and everything turns out as okay as it could possibly be. Serah becomes an instant hit with her new classmates and is always in and out of the house, sleeping over at friends’ places and going rollerblading down the streets and always surrounded by a large group of friends. The girls come over and giggle over how _handsome_ Hope is, and how nice and funny Snow is, and how _cool_ Claire is. The boys come over and shyly talk to Serah and Snow and Hope and, well, everybody, and stare at Serah and blush when she smiles at them and stumble over their words until Hope and Snow have to exit the room to hide their laughter. Claire just glares at them the moment they dare sit too close to her sister.

“You’ll feel differently when you get a boyfriend,” Hope teases her one day, lounging in the living room as they wait for Serah’s latest cooking experiment to finish up.

Claire snorts and continues leafing through her magazine. “Doubtful. Serah’s too young to be dating. All those boys wouldn’t treat her well, anyway.” She pauses, and then shrugs. “Besides, I don’t want a boyfriend.”

“Really? A pretty girl like you hasn’t been asked out yet?” Her cheeks darken and she picks up a pillow to hurl in Hope’s direction, who lets it thump against his chest.

“I’ve been asked out plenty of times. Stop teasing me,” she glares at him and focuses back on the glossy pages of her magazine. Hope laughs in response, and Claire’s shoulders drop.

She’s sixteen, and still wants Stupid No Longer a Teenager Hope. If she thought being twelve and having a crush sucked, being sixteen with him in the room was _much_ worse.


	6. The One With The Kiss

 

The first time Claire kisses Hope is when she is seventeen and he is twenty-four and she thinks she is old enough, now, to do this, but when he doesn't move and she pulls away and he only looks at her and shakes his head.

"You're seventeen, Claire," he tells her as if she doesn't already know this – she's done the math in her times plenty of times since she's been  _twelve_ , for crying out loud, and so what if she is less than one year away from being a legal adult? "I'm not going to kiss you back," he says in such a gentle voice as if he is afraid she will break, and how dare he even do this, as he completely  _shatters_  her heart—

But he also looks sad, in a sort of way she's never seen him be before, with a look in his eyes she can't quite place (it almost looks like heartbreak, she thinks, but it can't be because  _he doesn't kiss her back_ ) and she pushes herself away from him and storms out of the house. The front door slams behind her, but it's not like anyone other than him is around to hear it, anyway, and so she does it for his benefit alone. She knows him and knows how he will feel sad and guilty for making her angry, but he's no pushover despite his kindness and will hold on to what he's said. But she doesn't care about hurting him because it feels like she can't breathe and if she looks at him for even one more second, she will never recover from this humiliation.

So she power walks down the street to a friend's house and holds back tears and thinks – loving Hope Villiers was never worth it.

* * *

.

.

* * *

 

She spends the night over at her friend's and returns only in the morning when she knows Hope will have gone to his classes. After an entire night of pouring her heart out and eating ice cream and crying until she feels like her eyes will never recover, Claire's decided that her best course of action is to avoid him the best she can and hope he does the same, until her heart no longer hurts nearly as much and she is no longer in love with him.

She turns her house key in the lock and is surprised when the door comes away already open. A quick perusal of their entryway reveals Snow's shoes sitting in a messy pile, one of top of the other, and a stranger's pair right beside them. She furrows her brow – Snow typically had work already. "Hello?" She calls out. Her keys are dropped on a rack, followed by her jacket and boots; an echoing greeting sounds from the study and she follows Snow's voice, curious over his unexpected presence home.

"Morning, Claire!" The blond greets her from where he's sitting at his office chair, as giant as always and with faint greying at his temples. He grins at her. "Shouldn't you be at school? Or, you know, at least in your own bed?"

She flushes. "I slept over at a friend's. Why are  _you_ not at work?" Snow's eyes slide behind her and she turns, jumping when she notices the figure leaning against the wall there. "Oh… sorry. I didn't know you had guests over." The black haired man only nods at her, his arms crossed over his Cavalry uniform.

"No harm done, Miss Farron." He smiles at her and she's surprised at how young he actually looks. "Snow, I can let myself out."

Claire watches as the man leaves the room, and then listens for the shutting of the front door before turning back to the blond. "Who was that? I didn't know the Cavalry hired on anyone that young."

Snow shrugs, leaning back in the chair – Claire always expects it to break under his bulk, one day. "Cid? He's not that young. I think he's around Hope's age. Must be the curse of the baby-face." Claire rolls her eyes. "So why were you out having a sleep over on a weekday, anyway?"

"Why are you not at work and having secret meetings with your coworkers?" Claire crosses her arms and leans on one hip, raising an eyebrow when he only laughs in response. "What? If you can ask the serious questions, so can I."

Snow falls silent and watches her for a moment, a smile on his lips. "I guess you are pretty grown up now, aren't you," he says. "I remember when you were only  _this_ tall and calling me Mr. Villiers…"

"Apparently not old enough…" she mutters under her breath before sighing, and ignores Snow's raised eyebrow at her words. "Whatever. I should head to class."

Snow's chuckle follows her out the room and to her own, where she changes out of yesterday's clothes, grabs her school bag and prepares for a day full of irrelevant studying while trying to mend her broken heart. She comes home and Hope is gone, apparently staying over at a classmate's for a project (according to Serah) and so Claire shuts herself in her room and pretends the whole world doesn't exist.

She stays inside for dinner, too, when she hears him come back in, and only leaves in the morning when he's busy in the washroom.

The mortification of what she'd done finally catches up to her and embarrassment swells alongside the pain, and Claire desperately wishes for some force to sweep her up and away from her life, and away from him.

She was so incredibly  _stupid_. What had she been thinking, kissing him when he never even showed any signs of affection towards her? Everything he said, everything he did – it was just him being a good friend. And she was just a kid.

She was just a kid and Hope Villiers, who she is convinced she's been in love with since she was a teenager, did not kiss her back.

* * *

.

.

* * *

 

She comes home from school two days later and there's a note on the fridge with Hope's name on it, and he tells them that he's finally moved out to his own apartment and that he'll be by later to grab his stuff. A smiley face is scrawled at the very end of it and Claire's fingers jump towards the note, wanting to crush it through the tremor that has started up inside her body – she resists, and smoothes it down instead with shaking fingers, and turns her back on it and walks straight out of the house.

Claire walks, and keeps walking, until her legs feel numb and the cold air of the evening bites at her exposed skin. And she tells herself, resolutely, through the pain that is beginning to spread in every ache throughout her body,

Loving Hope Villiers was never worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It astounds me the amount of responses I actually got to this story. When I first started it, it was meant to be a oneshot with a lot less detail and expansion, but I had entirely too much fun writing scenarios and so it stretched out into a proper short story. Thank you for all the comments, and alerts! Please keep reviewing, it brightens up my day.
> 
> This chapter is fairly short, but the story requires a transition. The next one more than makes up for it, I promise. Also, updates might take a little longer after the next chapter is posted – I am entering my final several weeks of the semester, and the papers and studying have begun to attack in full. I have majority of the following chapters either written out in a rough draft or at least drafted in notes, it'll be just actually writing them that might take a bit. I am hoping to finish this by mid April at the latest.


	7. The One With Cid Raines

 

The first (and only, she bitterly reflects) time that Claire receives motherly advice about boys is when she is nineteen and trying to get piss drunk at a local bar.

Cocoon is exceptionally good at keeping up with the laws and so when Claire turns nineteen, by advice of her friends, she takes her sorrows to the bar and tries to drink them away. The locale she's decided to visit is more than enough blocks away that no one from her neighbourhood will recognize her, and by the clock hung on the far wall, she's already been sitting here well over an hour. The bartender keeps shooting her looks, but her ID came back valid and she's not slumping over the counter as of yet, and so he leaves her alone.

Claire pushes the neon umbrella inside her equally neon drink and slouches down further.  _It's been over a year_ , the thought passes and her fingers clench around the paper and whittled wood _; two years and it's like nothing has changed._  
  
She wonders if being in love is supposed to be so heart wrenchingly painful, so dark without the promise of the light at the end of the tunnel. She wonders if her heart will ever fix itself and recover all the splintered pieces that bury themselves in her organs and kill her from the inside out.

(He didn't kiss her back and he looked so sad - the memory stark in her mind, from the color of his eyes to the wobbling turn of his mouth and the twitch in his hands, as if to embrace her - but he didn't kiss her back. And then he left to the other side of the city and the house is not a home without him.)

She sighs.

"Oh, honestly," the patron sitting a respectable distance from her says, and Claire jumps.

"Don't look so scared, darling," humour colors the woman's tone as Claire glances over, ready to jump to her defense over  _who is this stranger telling me shit_ —

"I know the look of a heartbroken girl," the woman continues, pushing a strand of silver hair behind one ear ( _his hair in the dim light of the evening sun as he doesn't kiss her_ ) as her smile turns less humorous, and more comforting. "I've been there more than enough times. Believe me, staring into your drink won't result in any answers, either." The smile twitches at the corners. "Been there and done that, too."

Claire doesn't answer as she stares at the woman, from her conservative short hair and the evening outfit she has on to the dark green of her eyes, examining her back. "What is it to you?" She finally says, wary of this stranger looking at her with sympathy on her face.

The woman laughs. "I'm a mother," she replies, as if that answers everything in the world that rests behind Claire's question. "Maybe it's biological, but I can't stand to see you sitting here so heart broken. So what's this girl or boy done, to leave you like this?"

It sits on the tip of her tongue -  _it's not any of your business_ , but Claire holds it back. She remembers her own mother with more fondness and less sorrow now, the woman who kept her hair from getting in her face and soothed her with a matronly hand on her shoulder. "I did a stupid thing," she admits after a moment, gauging the reaction she receives to the confession. The stranger's smile only turns softer, her eyes kinder. "It was over a year ago now and it hasn't been any easier. All I can think of is going back in time and stopping myself from doing it so that things could at least be normal, or maybe I would be different, and then he would have..."

_Kissed me_ , she finishes inside her head.

"Loved you?" The woman says and Claire's throat closes.

"Yes."  _That too_.

The woman props her chin on one slender hand and smiles at her in such a way that all of a sudden Claire aches not for the man, but for her mother. She thinks of Serah, who comes to her for comfort and advice more often than not and draws solace from this fact of sisterly bond. But Serah is still young and does not see Claire as needing of reassurance, her cool and beautiful sister who cuts down Serah's fears with a warm look and honest words—

"It might not seem like it now, but time does make things better." The woman glances down at her drink, a rich amber rum; a drink full of sophistication that Claire only hopes to reach some day. "One morning you wake up and go through out your day, only to realize midway through that the thing that has been making you sad has been the tail end of your thoughts at the back of your mind this entire time. And it gets easier."

"And what if it's meant to be?" Claire voices the thing that is both her most secret desire and fear, this fairytale idea of romance and fate. The woman looks up again and her eyes are just like Hope's whenever he looked at her, two years before this, warm and liquid and sincere.

"Then it will be," she says easily, as if there is more out there than the fal'Cie governing their floating haven, a being of power or an entity of existence which concerns itself with the lives of the humans. Claire wants to believe, deep inside of her in the part that still trusts in the stories of Moogles and sleeping gods and goddesses.

A lull settles in the conversation. "I take it you have a daughter, then?" Claire breaks it after a moment, uncomfortable with the simple words that somehow border on personal that the woman has offered her. "I can't imagine a son really believing in that sort of advice."

( _Hope would_ , the aching part of her soul whispers.  _He believes in the stories just as much as you do - he would have told you that you were his soul mate.  
_  
 _If only he loved you_.)

The woman laughs and takes a sip from her glass; Claire watches and twirls the umbrella in hers, the promise of sugar an unwelcome thought. "You're still young," she says. "Girls mature faster than boys, you know. The ones your age haven't quite hit that point in their lives yet."

But Hope is not a boy, he's twenty six and she's nineteen and that's only seven years, but she also thinks she almost finally understands why he stills treats her like a child—

"I was meant to have a boy," the woman is still talking through Claire's derailing train of thought, fuelled by the sugary alcohol at last kicking in. "But it didn't quite work out and so I ended up with a girl instead. Not quite your age yet, thankfully." She chuckles to herself, a soothing sound all of a sudden in the low din of the bar. "Almost into her teens though, which will certainly be an adventure for the both of us."

"Oh." Now Claire just feels socially awkward, unsure of herself as if she is almost back at the dawn of her teens again, too. "How do you like raising a family in Eden?"

"Oh, no, we're not from here. My daughter is back in Palumpolum while my husband and I celebrate our anniversary here." Her conversation partner cranes her neck past Claire to where the front entrance is, her face lightning up with a smile as she finds whoever she is looking for. "Speaking of which, looks like he is finally here." She downs the remainder of her rum and turns again to Claire, a concerned crease between her brows as she gathers her coat. "Do you know the number for the cab? No matter how well monitored Eden may be, it's never a good idea to walk home alone late."

Claire's throat tightens and she shakes her head. "I hadn't thought that far ahead..." Embarrassed, she averts her eyes. The colors of her drink are nearly blinding, pulsing hues of pink and blue against the dark varnish of the tabletop.

"Here, then." A rustle of paper and the scratch of a pen, and Claire looks up to a number being slid her way. "Put that into the station down the street and a car will be by to pick you up."

"Thank you," Claire manages past the sudden onslaught of feelings at this stranger's kindness, her cheeks flushed red and her ears burning.

"Don't worry about it," the woman sends her one last motherly smile, fixes the strap of her purse and sweeps out of the bar. Claire returns to staring at the bottom of her glass as it slowly gets closer with every sip she takes, mulling the encounter over in her head.

She misses her mother, and her insides still feel as if they are being clawed apart by the angry rage of her broken heart. The cheery umbrella bumping against her lips suddenly feels as if it is mocking her.

Claire grimaces and crushes its papery existence in one fist. If there really was a goddess Etro in charge of the rebirth of souls, then Claire really hoped her next lot in life was a good one.

(And if the remainder of her life would involve this rocky relationship with Hope due to her own stupidity, then Etro might as well just take her now.)

* * *

.

.

* * *

She stumbles out of the establishment several hours later, woozy on her feet and a small slip of paper clenched tightly in one hand. It's been folded over so many times that when she un-crinkles it she has to squint in the dim light by the front entrance to make out the numbers.

Her heart lurches. It's no luck - her vision just swims away and leaves her staring at slanted blurs. She tilts both her head and her hands, trying to find an angle that will work.

"Miss Farron?"

It takes her a moment to respond to the sound of her name and she lurches when she does turn around, unsteady on her feet and her stomach rolling with sickness.

A hand reaches out to steady her shoulders, bringing her upright with its firm grip until she can make out the figure standing in front of her. Tall and male, with dark hair and a face that looks vaguely familiar, as if she's seen it come and go in passing before.

"Cid Raines," it finally introduces itself after the silence from her stretches as she tries to place him, unblinking. "We've met several times before. I work with Snow in the Calvary... I was over at your house for dinner two weeks ago."

Right. Snow's work buddy who he likes to lock himself in the study with and probably discuss some secret plans to over throw the government.  _As if that would ever happen_ , Claire snorts at the thought. Cid eyes her strangely, a fact she can tell even in her current state.

"Are you alright?" He reaches out to steady her again when she nearly topples over while trying to nod. "I suppose that answers my question, then. Are you waiting for Snow or Hope to pick you up?"

"I'm done waiting," Claire answers because being asked if she's waiting for Hope is all of a sudden so  _annoying_ , and she's so angry – she doesn't need to wait for a man. She's Claire Farron, confident and strong. She's done with Hope Villiers. That's the way it's going to be now. If only her heart picked up on that and stopped hurting, then she could finally  _move on_. That nice woman earlier in the night was right – if things were meant to be, they were going to work themselves out. She was done waiting for Hope Villiers.

She can see the edges of Cid's mouth curl up in the darkness and the faint light, amused at her words. She flushes. "I can take you home, if you'd like," he offers her and she stares back at him. She weighs this versus calling for a cab and waiting alone in the night for it to come get her.

"Are you going to kidnap me? Snow would kill you if you did," she blurts out instead and leers at him. Though it feels more like squinting, and her eyes hurt, and so she stops. "What are you doing here, anyway?"

She can tell he's trying hard not to laugh. "Some friends of mine and I like to go out here for their food." His mouth keeps twitching until he gives up and grins at her. He looks surprisingly handsome, now that Claire thinks on it. Especially when he's smiling. "I have no plans to kidnap you, Miss Farron, and I am more than positive that Snow  _would_ kill me if I were to even think of trying to do so. And I haven't been drinking so no, no need to ask your next question about my sobriety behind the wheel."

"Miss Farron was my mother," Claire mumbles and tilts her head at him. "It's Claire. Don't call me that. And if you try to kidnap me, I won't hesitate to kill you."

And this time he does laugh, quietly into the night, and offers her another smile when he's done. "Have you ever thought about joining the military, Claire? Maybe it would fit you."

"Snow wouldn't let me," she replies and makes to follow him as he motions to the parking lot. He opens the car door for her and makes sure she's strapped in before getting in himself, the low hum of the engine starting up moments later. He makes idle conversation as they drive the short distance to her house, letting her lead the conversation as she wishes; for which Claire is thankful for, because now that she's no longer angry, she's just sad and tired. Again.

He walks her up to the front door and rings the doorbell, even. They stand on her porch as they wait for someone to answer, because in his words, he doesn't want her "hurting herself on the way in". It is said with a small smile though and she can tell he's subtly poking fun at her – her eyes narrow and she looks away.

The door opens and she meets Hope's eyes. They stare at each other, surprised – she, at his being at the house; him, well – she has no way of knowing.

"Claire, we've been wondering where you were—" His gaze cuts to her companion and she's so in tune to his motions that she can notice the way he tenses as he recognizes the man. "Cid. What brings you here?"

"He was kind enough to offer me a ride home," Claire slurs – no, says, because she does  _not_ slur – and make sure to meet the eyes of Cid as she nods. "Thank you. Goodnight." Hope remains confused at the front door as she pushes herself past him with as much grace as she can and makes her way to her bedroom. Behind her she can hear Hope's bid of goodnight and the shutting of the door, and then his long stride as he catches up to her.

"Are you… drunk, Claire?" There is incredulity coloring his tone as he reaches for her shoulder and spins her around. The world around Claire lurches and she nearly pukes on him right then and there.

"No. Good night."

She's done waiting for Hope Villiers. She's done waiting for him as she turns back around, shuts the bedroom door behind her, and leaves him standing on the other side of the door staring after her.

Claire Farron will be fine without him.

* * *

.

.

* * *

She asks Snow where Cid Raines lives the next morning as she nurses her first ever hangover, a cup of coffee clutched tightly in her hands and shoulders slumped over.

"What do you need that for?" Her guardian peers at her from where he's standing flipping pancakes, and Serah snorts from beside the coffee maker as she waits for her own cup.

"Claire got drunk last night and he brought her home." Claire levels a glare at her and her little sister just grins like the evil imp she never grew out of being. "I'm surprised Hope didn't mention it. You were in bed already by the time she got home, but he stood staring at the front door for a straight five minutes afterwards with the most confused look on his face."

Claire's fingers twitch around the ceramic surface of her cup and she hides her grimace behind it as she takes a sip. She can feel Snow's stare on her and she purposefully avoids meeting it.

"I bet," the man says, almost as if to himself, before turning back around to the stove. "Cid's house is about two blocks away, towards the station. I'll write down the address for you after I'm done. Are you going to pay him a visit?"

"She's going to make him cookies as a thank-you," Serah chimes in during Claire's resounding silence and Claire lets her forehead bang against the table. She really needed to stop sharing so many things with her sister.

Snow laughs loudly in response at this, booming in the morning light coming through their kitchen window and Claire winces as it makes her head throb. "Alright, but only if you can take a photo of his face for me when you give them to him."

A second of silence passes, and then Claire groans and slouches further against the table she's still resting against. "I hate all of you," she mutters, and covers her head with her arms as Snow keeps laughing her headache into further misery.

* * *

.

.

* * *

She does end up making him a platter of double chocolate-chip cookies (the only ones she knows how to, what with her failed track record as a chef) later on in the week and shows up at his front door with the container in her hands, fidgeting with nerves as she waits for him to open it. Barely a minute passes before she hears a lock click and it swings inward, Cid's grey eyes widening slightly at surprise at seeing her.

"Uh," she starts off, and clears her throat. "Hello."

"Claire," he greets her back. "What can I do for you?"

"I made you these." Her fingers tense around the plastic she's holding before she thrusts it at him, which he takes after a moment of hesitation. "They're cookies. As a thank you for driving me home from the bar a few nights ago. So, um, thank you."

Cid's face does that handsome thing where he smiles at her, the same as it was back at the bar, and Claire's ears begin to burn under the cover of her hair. "Thank you, they smell good." He tilts his head at her, still smiling, and opens the door further. "Would you like to come in? I'd feel a bit guilty eating them all alone."

Claire mulls this over in her head for a moment, uncertain, and awkward, before a smile settles on her lips. "Sure."

And Claire follows Cid Raines into his house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, this is definitely not the last chapter, and it's still definitely Hope/Light, so don't get worried.


	8. The One With The Pulsian Threat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good news! My last class is today, and with Fan Expo over (I had a great first-con experience), updates should hopefully appear more frequently again. I don't see myself hitting my mid-April deadline anymore, so I'll be trying to shoot for end of the month. I had some difficulty writing everything I wanted to get across in this chapter, which also affected the update time; I apologize for any abruptness in it.

The first time Claire misses the annual fireworks at Bodhum (a tradition they kept up with, if only to remember their roots) is only days before she turns twenty one. Serah had planned for a small birthday dinner at some local, popular beach side cafe, but the timing just hadn't worked out - Claire got swamped with work, and both Cid and Snow were away on some abrupt Cavalry business, and Hope - well, Claire doesn't know where Hope has gone off to.

(In the three years after she runs out on him, humiliated and heart broken, he's tried his hardest to avoid home. Which is fine by Claire.

She's planning on moving out soon, anyway. Maybe then the guilt at her stupidity will finally abate.)

* * *

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.

* * *

In the evening some days leading up to her birthday, the news flash an emergency statement: " _Cocoon is under attack by Pulse l'Cie_." Blurry surveillance videos of two faceless women in a fal'Cie plant become a staple every hour as all military personnel in Cocoon are sent out on a hunt. The Purging of Bodhum is shortly announced as the media becomes a duet of frenzied warnings of the dangerous l'Cie roaming Cocoon unrestrained, and the call for its citizens to remain calm and vigilant for any suspicious persons or behaviour.

Serah and Claire watch one such in report in subdued silence, as the woman on the screen before them assures that the citizens of Bodhum will be taken care of and the remnants of the Pulse fal'Cie that has been found present by the water side is being safely removed this very moment.

"I guess it's a good thing we didn't go, after all," Serah comments as the news come to an end, fiddling with the pen she's using to write her history report.

"Yeah," Claire echoes, her stomach rolling with nerves and turns away from the TV. She startles when she notices Snow standing in the doorway of their living room, his face a mask of calm that she's able to decipher after years of living together.

"When did you get home?" She questions and then, as the thought strikes her, "is this what your work trip was about?"

He turns his eyes to her and for a moment it's as if she doesn't know him after all – as if a different man stands before her, silent and grave and furious. She runs out of words as some instinctual part of her brain urges her to run, tells her:  _this man is dangerous_.

"Sorry, that's confidential," Snow says after that frightening moment and tries to smile, and it looks like a grimace instead. "I'll be in my office. Let Hope know I want to talk to him when he stops by for dinner, alright?"

Claire nods, still mute and just slightly afraid, and watches him disappear down the hallway.

* * *

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* * *

When Hope arrives at their door and politely rings the doorbell as if it is no longer his house, she relays Snow's words to him with the frosty detachment she's developed well over the past three years. He doesn't even stick around to hear what they're having for dinner before heading off to Snow's office.

"Well, that was rude," Claire comments to Serah as she sulks in the kitchen. Her sister just shrugs and sends her a comforting look.

"You know how busy those two are. They're probably just having a difficult day with everything that's happening right now. I'm sure either Cid or Snow will tell you when they can."

Claire purses her lips. "They're being secretive and I don't like it," she announces and follows after Hope. The hallway floor is plush with a thick carpet that masks her footsteps as she creeps along, until her ear is pressed to the wood of the shut door; she knows she's being immature about this, but she hates secrets. And she's worried. About both her guardian and Cid, who works with Snow and employs her guardian as his right hand man, and has not stopped by to greet her as he usually does after missions.

Snippets of whatever conversation that is so important float through the barrier and she focuses harder, until—

"They knew what they were giving up! This was the only way, and you know this. Damn it, we've had this conversation before - you think this isn't killing me, either?"

Claire almost jumps back at the absolute venom and agony she can pick up from Hope's voice, her heart shuddering to a brief stop in empathy.

"But evidently nothing has changed!" A thump, so heavy that she can imagine Snow's fist hitting his desk. "What is the point of all this if nothing we do actually  _does_  anything?"

""Nothing we do actually does anything?"" Hope's response is full of disbelief and Claire shifts in discomfort - this is the most hysterical she has ever heard him. "Take a look around you, Snow! I'd say this counts as  _something_! Have the past years meant absolutely nothing to you? Your work with the Cavalry and  _Cid Raines,_ of all people? The very basic fact that the world hasn't been consumed by darkness because of what we've done?" There is a pause in his tirade and Claire presses harder, baffled beyond belief at his words. When Hope speaks next, his voice is thick with an emotion Claire can't decipher – she thinks it sounds like grief, or regret, or even  _hope_. "Lightning didn't know what she was doing when she did this. For a plan born out of desperation in the last few moments before our world ended, this is working out better than expected, don't you think?"

Claire's body feels slightly numb, her brain unable to process the meaning behind the words. The world's end? Lightning? Who was  _Lightning_ , and what exactly did she do?

She begins to wonder, with the doubt creeping up on her, if her friends were going insane.

So consumed by her shock that she didn't notice Snow's lack of a response, until Hope is speaking again. "We have Serah with us, and Claire. We have  _Claire_." He places an emphasis on her name and his voice trembles. "At least it's not them again, Snow. At least it's not Serah and Lightning—"

"Dinner's ready!" Serah's yell spooks Claire and she jumps, jerking back from the door as Hope's statement goes unfinished. She tenses, ready to bolt at any sign of their approach from the other side.

The silence stretches in response for another terse second, the atmosphere inside so heavy that she can feel it from her side of the door. "Things will be different this time," Hope finally says with his voice full of resolve, and Snow's response is the resounding silence - then Hope's footsteps, and she dodges behind the corner and makes for the kitchen.

Serah sends her an amused look as she all but bolts in. "Good, now that you're done, you can help put this out." A serving bowl is dumped in Claire's hands and her little sister shoots her out with an amused, carefree smile. In the dining room, Claire sets the salad down on the table and astutely avoids Hope's eyes when he walks in.

"Where's Snow?" She asks instead, and the man only shrugs in response.

"He got caught up with some work stuff," Hope lies straight through his teeth with a smile, and Claire wants to punch him. "He'll be out in a bit."

 _At least it's not Serah and me, what_? The question begs at the tip of her tongue, but all that comes out is, "Sure."

_Serah and Claire? And Lightning? Who is Lightning?_

Snow finally emerges as they settle in around the table and Serah keeps conversation going, the buzz of the TV a low hum in the background. The news bulletins continue flashing, full of terror and reassurance all in one.

_Serah and Lightning? The world's end? Who is Lightning? What's so special about me?_

Claire's mind whirls and she stabs a piece of meat with her fork. The taste of it is dim and faint in her mouth, as all Cocoon food is, slathered in sauce to make it more bearable on their taste buds. For the briefest of seconds, her mind flashes to the two women dominating the news reports, clad in their wild furs with strange, rough looking weapons and she thinks - what do they eat on Pulse? Does their food taste any better? Do the fal'Cie care for them on the land below, as they do in the floating haven above?

Blocky letters on the TV stream scream  _PULSIAN THREAT_  at her, and  _TERRORISTS AT LARGE,_ and Claire looks at her little sister; at Serah, who is safe and happy here in Eden and despite the comfort Snow and Hope have provided them after their mother's death, has remained Claire's focus in keeping her  _just the way she is_ —

Claire turns her eyes to Snow and Hope, who listen to Serah with plastic smiles and tired eyes. Disgust and fear roll together inside her stomach at all the implications that could come from bringing up the conversation she had eavesdropped on, and that moment of Snow looming in their doorway, feeling as if he could choke someone to death with the anger she could see building up inside of him.

She did not fear them, but she feared what the world after could mean for Serah, were she to get any answers. And the world for her. And a feeling inside of her told her –  _don't ask. Not today. You don't want to know_.

Hope looks away from her sister then, and meets her eyes from across the table – Claire stares at him, feeling the frown on her face pulling her brow down. Hope raises an eyebrow at her in a question, no doubt surprised at her blatant staring and Claire almost says it:  _At least it's not us, what? Who is Lightning and what did she do and what did you mean by the world ending?_

But she doesn't. She looks away, and she pushes it all away for the sake of her sanity. For her sister's sanity. For the safe, little world that they have managed to build up around them.

_Serah, and Claire, and Lightning, nothing._

* * *

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.

* * *

A week later she sits on the couch with Cid's arm around her when the show they are both watching comes to an abrupt interruption – a frequent thing as of late, and the bubbly face of the news anchor is a more than familiar one at this point. "The Cocoon government is more than happy to announce that the Pulse l'Cie threat has been contained as of this morning, in no small part due to the assistance of our own Cocoon l'Cie…"

Cid's body against her tenses as the woman keeps talking, her smile blinding in its relief. Claire shifts next to him as the stream switches to a striking, long haired woman being interviewed about the involvement of PSICOM in the capture of the l'Cie.

"It's just a child," Claire observes, surprised, when the crystallized form of their l'Cie is revealed.

"The fal'Cie care little for who they make their servants," Cid replies. Claire remains silent in response to his statement, uncomfortable as the truth about their fal'Cie in this regard sets in.

"Cid is right." She sits up at Hope's voice and turns around to see him leaning against the living room entrance, his arms crossed over his chest and a dark look on his face as he stares at the news report. "Pulsians, Cocoon – we're all just pawns in their warfare. We're nothing but their pets."

Cid's laughter vibrates against her body. "Be careful who you're saying that around, Hope. Wouldn't want you getting carted off by our esteemed Primarch."

Hope's lips twist into a grin. "As if  _you_ , of all people, would report me."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Claire interrupts as the mood around them shifts, becoming more tense by the moment. Her eyes switch between the two men in the room with her, who are suddenly refusing to look at her. "Cid?"

"It's nothing, Claire," her boyfriend says at last. "Just a joke between Hope and I that's stemmed from past discussions."

 _Do you take me for an idiot?_ She almost snaps back, anger bubbling up inside of her.  _You don't joke about stuff like that. You, of all people, as an officer should know that._

"Fine," she says, standing up and shaking Cid's arm off of her. "I'll be in the kitchen if you need me." They both remain silent as she walks out, Hope reaching out to touch her arm as she passes.

"Everything we do is for your own safety, Claire," he says quietly with his eyes meeting hers, serious and sincere. She lingers next to him for a brief moment, torn between her anger and her fear of actually  _asking_ for elaboration. "For yours and Serah's."

The silence stretches for what feels longer than a second, Claire's world suddenly different from what she is used to.  _I'm only 21,_ she thinks to herself and the thought brings an exhaustion like no other.  _This is not my fight – whatever this is._

"I know," she tells Hope.  _I know._

The uneasiness inside her body churns, bringing bile into her stomach, and Claire forces it away.


	9. The One With The "I Love You, Claire Farron"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I picked up so many shifts at work this week, now that I am done with school, that I am ready to collapse and enjoy my three day weekend before I go back. Hopefully I have the time to write the next chapters within that break (or as soon as possible, considering I already have the final chapter written and I am just aching to post it).

The first time Hope is the one to kiss Claire is when she twenty two and moving out into her own apartment.

Getting older had certainly put things into perspective for Claire. She understood now (at least to a degree) why he had acted the way he did when she was seventeen, why he had grown so uncomfortable in her presence. The age gap that had seemed so miniscule to Claire when she was a teenager suddenly dawned between her and the kids she helped teach at Eden. So, regretting the mistake she made as such a kid, she had worked on improving their relationship to at least a ghost of what it once was – the first time she asked Hope out for coffee, as casually as she could over breakfast while waiting for Serah and Snow to join them, he had looked like a wild animal under a search light before cautiously agreeing.

The patch work started from there – visits at coffee shops, public events they bold held an interest in, watching the evening news in the same room without an air of tension between them for once. Their stilted conversations turned amiable again, genuine smiles exchanged once more and ribbing jokes at one another.

But even so, the invisible line had been drawn - they never went out where they would be completely alone. Until today, where both Snow and Cid had to bail last minute on helping her move due to Cavalry business.  


Claire doesn't know how it happens. He had just finished settling down a couch with her in the living room, and then she straightened and he was right there and she only has seconds to register his face above hers before he leans down and kisses her.

Her heart jumps, whether from surprise or long buried elation, she doesn't know - she doesn't want to know.

(Not after all this time and all this work - she doesn't. She does. She doesn't.  _She doesn't_.)

He is the one who pulls back, and she is the one who doesn't kiss him this time. Instead, she tells him, "I think you should leave now."

He looks calm, about as calm as she feels - the peace before the storm, the peace that comes from shock. The one that will shatter almost certainly, given enough time.

"Claire," Hope says her name, and he looks as sad as she remembers him being all those years ago when he had no right to be. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for wasting all this time." He pauses, a split second of hesitation, and then he is once again the certain man she knows. "I love you, Claire Farron."

The world both stops and speeds up, the way novels always write and she never thought was possible; all she can hear and see now is her own breathing and his eyes staring at her.

She wants to tell him again -  _you need to leave. How dare you kiss me. How dare you tell me you love me_. But instead she opens her mouth and asks, "Why?"

Hope furrows his brows at her. "Why, what? Why I love you?"

He says those silly words again and her world is back to normal, and her heart does a stuttering half jump as she processes them. It feels painful and wonderful - full of hope. She tries not to cry.

(All those years of heartbreak, of work to get over him - Cid. What would Cid even say of this?)

She doesn't want to think about what he would say (and that is horrible to realize, because that means she does not love him, and she had so wanted to). "Why tell me this now? Why not a year ago? Two years ago? What's changed?" The ugly feelings inside of her build up and she sneers, stepping away and crossing her arms over her chest. "What, suddenly I'm mature enough for you to love? Is this a reverse psychology thing, because I've been making us spend all this time together? You can't just push me away for all those years and then expect me to tell you that I still want you."

"What?" Hopes eyes widen at her words and he draws back. "No, that's not what this is at all, Claire, I promise." He stops again and takes a moment to gather himself. "I'm sorry, I know I have no right to tell you all of this."

_Stop talking_ , she thinks, because every cell in her body hurts.

"I have... Always loved you."  
 _  
Stop._

"But there were things that were difficult..."

_Don't._

"...and I didn't think it was right for me act out on my feelings. There are… A lot of reasons. Too many and it took me too long to realize that I was wrong to break your heart when all I wanted was for you to be happy - with me."  
 _  
Shut up._

"...And now that you're happy with somebody else, I know I've missed my chance but I want to fight for you, Claire, as I should have done all that time ago. I don't want you to make a choice right now, I just want you to know that I love you, and I will always love you, and I am a stupid, selfish idiot who will always put you first."

Her response is one of silence as she absorbs all of this, surprising even herself with how calm her face feels, how deep and even her breaths are. "So what reasons were they?" She snaps out after what feels like an eternity, her arms across her chest pressing tighter against her body. "They must have certainly been good enough to warrant all these past years."

Hope's eyes jump away from hers then and somewhere over her shoulder, his features softening with pain. "You reminded me too much of someone," he answers quietly, still gazing somewhere she cannot reach. "A friend I had growing up, a long time ago. I didn't think it would be fair to you - or her - until I knew that what I felt for you was real. And it is. I love you, Claire, and it took me far too long to realize this."

And Hope smiles then, a broken thing teeming with sorrow and self-derision, and leaves the apartment when she doesn't answer him. She stares after him and the shut door for what feels like eons, as if she is a crystal statuette perched on a throne of her own doing as the emotions whirl chaos inside her body and wage war between reason and emotion, selflessness and selfishness.

She sits on the couch they carried together up three flights of stairs and digs her fingers into her palms until the skin breaks under the force.

_There was never a choice_ , she bitterly thinks.  _It has always been you_.

* * *

 

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* * *

 

The worst part is how understanding Cid is when she tells him that she is in love with someone else. "In another time and place," he tells her, one hand gripping hers over the surface of his dinner table, "perhaps we could have been happy."

He stops then, and his eyes drift past her to where she knows his Cavalry uniform hangs washed and ready for his departure later. "This is probably for the best, anyway. There are things I must do and I don't want you involved, for your own safety."

She wants to know but she doesn't ask - the way things have always been between them, his job and secrecy a barrier in their relationship that they have never been able to overcome. So they bid each other goodbye, and she leaves that part of her life behind, wiser from the experience.

* * *

 

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* * *

 

Because she is wiser and not a child anymore, she does not run straight to Hope's arms as some would have expected one who has had a decade long love finally returned to do. Instead, because reality is harsh and cruel even through the conflicted happiness growing inside of her, she cuts off all contact and focuses on her studies at Eden and job as a teaching assistant. And because she had made herself stop waiting for him, had grown independent and realized that happiness does not depend on a man in her life (something that she hopes has passed on to Serah, who has a tendency to fall for boyfriends hard and fast and leave them because in her own words,  _they are not the one_ ) the time apart even after his confession is not as difficult as some would expect. The situation is just there, almost like an old ache or a friend, lingering in the background of her life.

But she does still love him, in the way that the soul always does seek out its partner despite time and space and circumstance, and so when a knock comes on her door and she opens it to find him standing there, uncomfortable but determined at the same time, she does not make him leave.

"Snow told me you broke up with Cid," he says after a few seconds, as she leans on the half opened door and he stands with his hands buried in his pockets.

"It wouldn't have worked out, even without you," she answers and it is the truth, is why Cid let go of her as easily as she let go of him.

"Why?" He asks her with genuine curiosity.

"His job made things difficult," Claire answers, and doesn't say,  _because I would have always wanted you in some way instead and it would not have been fair to him and we both also knew that._  
  
Hope's mouth quirks up at the corners, in a smile that's been frequenting his face more as of lately - a somewhat secret smile that Claire doesn't know what to do with, is almost too scared to get to the bottom of. "It is hard to have a relationship when you're busy keeping the world safe."

She lets the strange words pass, filing them away into a mental container of all the strange things Hope and Snow say that she doesn't know how to deal with, both wants to understand and doesn't because something urges her to ignore them for her own sanity. She will review then some day, she tells herself, but her instincts tell her:  _not today. Not right now_.

"It is unfair of you to expect anything of me," Claire says quietly and with certainty, the both of them trapped within their own moment of time as the pieces finally fall together, years in the making.

"I know," Hope answers in the same tone of voice and understanding.

Claire wants to tell him everything she's felt since she ran out on him and he in turn ran out from her - all the heartbreak, and the shame, and the insult added to injury at his complete withdrawal from her life. She wants to tell him that she finally understands why he did it, too, but that it doesn't quite make it easier to forgive him in this moment. She wants to tell him that she loves him, in a way that somehow still makes all of this bearable; a way where what she feels for him eclipses all the negative moments and that she will forgive him, with time, but right now they need baby steps because they may have been friends for ten years, strangers for five, but learning how to show they love each other will take effort on both their parts.

Something in the way she shifts her body as she thinks all this, maybe the way her shoulders relax and her eyes soften, ways she doesn't notice but he knows better than her, makes his eyes both sad and bright and his lips curl up in a tender smile.

"I know," he tells her, softly, and it is both an  _I'm sorry_ and an  _I love you_. It is a promise, a prelude to the chapters of their relationship waiting to be written.

She opens the door.


	10. The One With Telling the Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're in the final stretch! I have estimated that there are three more chapters following this, with two of them already written – I just need to write the one immediately following this one. Writing happy, normal things is surprisingly difficult. I think I've written too much tragedy for these characters.

Claire first remembers having the nightmare a month into her relationship with Hope, which has progressed so naturally to the point where her drawer space has been taken up by his clothes, and his bathroom houses her toothbrush.

"A Gil for your thoughts?" Her boyfriend asks, running a hand up the naked skin of her arm as they laze one sunny morning in bed. She flinches at the contact as it draws her out of her mind and Hope pulls back, raising an eyebrow in both surprise and question.

"Sorry." She grabs the hand and presses a kiss to his knuckles in apology. "Just a bad dream that hasn't left yet."

"What was it?" She leans into his fingers and lets him cradle her face. Humming in response, she tries to draw the remnants of the nightmare teeming at the back of her conscience to the forefront.

( _Your sister is dead_

 _Because of you_ )

The words echo inside of her skull, intoned by a surprisingly clear feminine voice and she grimaces. "Just something about Serah." She closes her eyes and for a moment she is back at the place her sleep took her to, a grey ocean rising up to meet a grey sky on the back of her eyelids. The tide washing at her feet turns her skin numb and there is something important behind her, something that calls her name but she knows that if she turns around, then—

"I'm on a beach," she murmurs, her eyes still closed as she furrows her brow. "It's dark and cold. The world feels..." She searches for the words. "...wrong. Someone calls my name, but I know that if I turn around, they won't let me go." She opens her eyes and frowns, a headache beginning to build up behind her sockets. "How stupid, dreaming of monsters at my age."

Hope's fingers at her cheek curl further inward, his blunt nails scraping at her skin. "You're probably just worried about today," he says after a momentary silence. The corners of his lips quirk up in a smile and he leans forward to press a lingering kiss to her lips. "I wouldn't worry about it too much," he continues once he pulls back. His hand sweeps her hair behind one ear and her frown turns into a guilty smile.

"Probably, though I would be surprised if Serah's reaction to us was anything but happy. Snow, on the other hand..."

Hope laughs. "I wouldn't worry about Snow, Claire. He'll probably act tough for all of five minutes before breaking down into "I knew it was going to happen"."

Both of her eyebrows rise up with surprise. "Really? He's not going to be bothered by his little brother dating his all-but-adopted daughter?"

"You're more like a little sister to him," Hope corrects her with a grin. "He never adopted you as his daughter on paper anyway, so I wouldn't worry about that. Besides, he knows how much I love you."

The pleasant churning in her stomach at the confession of love makes her smile. "The same can probably be said for me too, with how much of my sulking over you he's had to endure over the years."

The both of them begin laughing, the bright sunlight of Phoenix filtering through her bedroom curtains painting their entwined bodies in a warm glow. Hope stretches beside her in the bed, his silver hair catching in the light and Claire thinks—

( _The grey ocean and the grey sky, and free falling through the air and the brush of white feathers against her thigh - cold metal pressed into every crevice of her skin, and a guilt like no other seeping into her soul; and if she turns, the empty city beckons—_ )

 _—_ that this is perfection.

* * *

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* * *

"Wait," is the first word out of Serah's mouth the moment she opens the Villiers' front door, an eyebrow already raised in suspicion as she first eyes them standing in front of her, and then peers at the residential street behind them. "There's two of you here, but only one of your cars. And I know neither one of you live within walking distance to here, or from each other." She remains staring at them, her pretty face drawn together in concentration. "Is the world ending?"

Hope chuckles and sweeps past her with a quick kiss to the top of her head as Claire mutters " _we weren't that bad_ " under her breath. The two sisters remain standing in silence as Serah tilts her head, her eyes beginning to widen as the thoughts inside her head begin to click.

"Wait," she repeats herself, and then _—_  "Claire, is this what I think it is?"

Her older sister rolls her eyes in response and pushes past. "Well, it's certainly not the world ending," she quips with a sisterly tug on Serah's side ponytail as she does so. There comes a brief moment of silence behind her as Serah's mind makes all the connections before the front door clicks shut _—_

"I CANT BELIEVE IT," Serah all but squeals like a twelve year old in Claire's ear as she jumps on her sister from behind, her slender frame enveloping the woman in a tight embrace. "Claire! You! And Hope! I've been waiting for this moment forever!"

Claire's arms under Serah's legs around her waist - having come up automatically - rise and lower in a shrug. "I'm glad you're taking this well." Her tone of voice remains light but the smile she sends her sister over one shoulder speaks volumes of her relief and happiness. Serah squeaks again, tightening her grip on Claire before wiggling off.

She drops to her feet with a small exhale. "Does Snow know?"

"Does Snow know, what?" Comes the voice of their guardian from the stairwell behind them. The greying blond eyes the two with his hands fisted at his hips, a mischievous smile pulling at his lips. "You two are way too old to be getting into trouble, don't you think?"

"It's great news!" Serah pipes up and rocks herself towards Snow, grabbing at his hands and beginning to bounce. "It's Claire and Hope!  _Claire_ and  _Hope!"_

"If you're acting like a kid again, it must be something amazing," Snow observes before untangling his hands from the girl's. His eyes travel to Claire, who shifts under his gaze. "Claire and Hope are what, now? Are actually speaking, and not like robots? That does deserve a celebration."

"Uh, not quite." A silence follows Claire's evasive reply, any possible tension dispersed by Serah's grinning face.

A chuckle floats from the living room as the silence stretches on and Hope emerges. "I'd say it's more than just talking," he comments before putting one arm around Claire's shoulder and turning to grin at his brother. "A lot more than talking, actually."

Serah giggles. "More like  _no_ talking, probably!"

Claire's cheeks and ears flush at the comment, her eyes flashing to glare at her sister before turning back to watch for Snow's reaction. The man observes them in silence, a look of thoughtful surprise on his face. "Well," he finally says, a grin beginning to break out at his lips. "I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought that this scenario would be the best outcome to the past several years. Congratulations, kids."

Claire exhales loudly in relief and Hope's arm around her shoulders tightens, his grin radiating like Phoenix itself.

"And really," Snow continues, "I should have seen this coming a long time ago, considering how twelve year old Claire trailed Hope. Ah, the good old days… Maybe I liked it better when you couldn't stand him…"

He grins widely at Claire as her boyfriend and sister burst out laughing, and she can't quite muster up the anger to glare at him.

* * *

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.

* * *

The Farron sisters migrate over to the living room couches after brunch, where Serah curls up next to her older sister and begins to brush her straight hair over one shoulder. Claire eyes her with suspicion. "What are you doing, Serah?"

"We should get matching hairstyles!" She replies and tilts her head, bringing attention to her long side ponytail. "You'll look great like this!" She reaches up and fixes her sister's bangs to fall across one eye, a grin settling at her lips. "Seriously. Let me go and get a mirror so you can see."

"I'm not your doll," Claire sighs in response but lets her sister run off to her bedroom anyway. One of her hands trails up to the hair now lying over her left shoulder and she runs her fingers through it, contemplating the cut for the briefest of moments. Snow and Hope's approaching voices catch her attention and she glances towards their direction, raising an eyebrow when the two freeze at the sight of her.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," she comments as they continue staring, beginning to feel uncomfortable under the intensity of their stare.

Her voice breaks them out of their stupor and Snow smiles. "You look great, Claire. Is this Serah's work? She's been trying to get me to cut my hair for weeks."

"Hey!" Her sister's voice chimes in as she returns, and Claire twists around to see her scowling at their guardian. "Your hair  _needs_ that haircut, Snow! Have you seen it? I can't believe you'd let it suffer looking like that. I refuse to be associated with you."

The admittedly shaggy blond shrugs. "Hey, you're the one living here for free, not me. How soon are you gonna move out, then?"

Claire tunes out the following family argument and turns her attention back to Hope, who's watching the two with a fond smile on his face. He catches her stare and comes to sit next to her on the couch, one of his hands settling on her thigh as he leans back into the cushions.

"Do I look like her?" Claire blurts out quietly, feeling both a sudden sense of clarity and foolishness at the question. At Hope's look of confusion she elaborates, "You said I reminded you of someone you knew. Is that what that was? Did Snow know her, too?"

A wince passes over his expression and her gut churns at having hit the bullseye. "You still remember that," he says under his breath before sighing. "Yeah, you do. With your hair like that, for Snow and me, it really  _was_ like almost seeing a ghost."

She shifts closer to him and presses her body against his, her eyes staring at Snow and Serah as they continue arguing. "Do you want to tell me about her?" She asks.

There's hesitation on Hope's end before he speaks. "It was a long time ago, before we moved to Bodhum. She was older than me, around Snow's age. She actually couldn't stand him when we all first met but he grew on her. He has a tendency to do that, as I'm sure you've noticed." He pauses, before moving his arm over her shoulder. "I was a kid back then and she was my first love. She was an amazing woman – a soldier, with the drive for it to boot, and she loved her family and friends fiercely. I didn't have my mother at that point and Snow wasn't the best at taking care of a child, so she become my role model. I'll remain thankful my entire life for what she did for me."

"How did she die?" At her quiet question, Hope's smile turns sad.

"She was a soldier," he replies, "and in that line of profession, especially with how stubborn she was, things don't always go as planned."

A solemn silence settles over them. "I'm sorry," Claire breaks it, both for the question and the situation. Hope's lips press to the top of her head where it is leaning against his shoulder.

"It was a long time ago." In front of them, the family squabble has moved on to Snow leaving his dishes in the sink and Serah's forgetfulness about leaving her cooking pans all over the counters. "You might remind me of her, but you're two different people. I love you for you, Claire. That will never change." She can feel his smile through his words, and a warmth settles over her.

"She was my first love but that was in a different life, and I look back on her with the fondness you carry for old friends." Serah and Snow stop talking for the briefest of moments before both burst out in laughter at a peculiarity one had brought up within their tirades. A sense of happy normality settles over Claire, surrounded by the people she loves.

"I have never been as happy as I am when I am with you," Hope promises, and that is all Claire needs.


	11. The One With The Kid Names

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next two chapters will be uploaded one right after the other, and a bunch of questions I’ve received over the time I’ve been writing this, alongside some more I imagine people would have, will be answered by me in the very end of the last chapter. We’re almost there.

The first time Claire visits her mother's grave as a married woman is when she is twenty five with Hope at her side. It is, consequently, the tenth anniversary of her mother's death and the party consists of also Snow and Serah, all of them dressed in somber black with flowers in their hands.

The sisters lay carnations upon the stone, tracing the inscription that is carved on the jutting rock from the soil – the graveyard is all that remains of a slowly rebuilding Bodhum, the citizens of Cocoon wary of moving their homes to the picturesque seaside town. The shadow of the discovered Pulse fal'Cie and subsequent Purge still rests heavy over it despite the government's drive for re-population.

"Hi, Mom," Claire greets all that remains in the physical world of their mother, and Serah follows suit, and the Villiers brothers fall back a respectable distance to let the remaining Farron family have their privacy. The women draw them back in soon enough and the four spend time chatting amongst themselves and the woman they can remember in their memories, cracking jokes and laughing now that the time for grieving has settled deeper behind the happiness of  _now_.

A private airship – a luxury affordable with Snow's cushy job as a high ranking officer in the Cavalry, and Hope's position as a tech-development aid within the Sanctum - waits for them on the premises some distance off and the family boards it when a decent amount of time has passed. The pilot's voice announces their departure over the com and with a small jolt, the ship lifts gracefully into the air and sets course for Eden.

"I still like  _Emily_ ," Serah comments, stretching into the plush of the seat behind her. "You better have a girl first, Claire. I have all these ideas for the cutest baby clothes to buy, and no baby girl to dress her up in." A teasing smile is on her face as she says this, but in her eyes Claire can detect the slight hints of envy and melancholy – Serah absolutely adores kids, and adores her job as a pre-school teacher in Eden, but has yet to settle down and start a family of her own. Claire knows that that is all Serah has ever wanted – a family of her own.

Claire, on the other hand – her stomach churns uncomfortably as the discussion of baby names continues, carried over from the cemetery. It is joking, slowly edging into the area where both Snow and Serah are uncertain where the boundary is. Claire remains quiet as the two throw names at each other, each one more ridiculous than the last.

"I am not naming my kid  _Chocolina_ ," Hope shoots down a suggestion of Snow's with a laugh, his hand finding Claire's next to his and rubbing his fingers against the sides of her palm in a gesture of comfort. The tension in her guts eases by the smallest of notches. A beat of silence passes, then he says in a voice carrying a tone more serious, more humble, "I like the name Vanille for a girl, myself."

Across from them Snow's grin turns softer. "I like that one too," he agrees, and Serah hums in agreement. "Or, if it's a boy, Noel. I've always liked  _Noel."_

An echo of Snow's smile settles at the edges of Hope's lips. "Me too," he says, and the mood is suddenly too serious, too  _real_ – Claire jumps up.

"I need a drink," she announces to her surprised family and heads for the lounge at the front of the ship that houses the bar. Hope sends her a look – barely a second long as their eyes meet, a question in regards to company that she can read as easily as her own reflection – and she subtly shakes her head.

She plops down on a stool at the bar with a glass of light wine she'd found behind it with a heavy sigh. The wine is tart and fruity, tingling the back of her throat as she swallows. "How am I expected to be a mother," she mutters to the polished wood of the counter, "when I can barely remember my own?"

"And isn't that the million gil question," a wry voice comments behind her and she turns, startled to see a dark skinned man shrug at her once their eyes meet. "Couldn't help but overhear you," he says in an apologetic tone, an accent to his voice that belies his origins as one of Cocoon's smaller, more rural towns.

"Don't worry about it," Claire answers, caught off-guard at having been overheard. She eyes his pilot uniform as he rummages through the fridge behind the counter and emerges with a chilled bottle of water.

"Hope I'm not interrupting anything," the man continues as he settles on a stool several away from hers, uncapping the bottle and taking a quick swig. There's a grimace on his lips when he pulls away. "I'd stay in the cabin but my co-pilot had a very – well, let's just say he had a very  _interesting_ lunch and it's making itself known."

The implications hit Claire and she chuckles in sympathy after a second. "It's fine." She stretches out one hand to him. "Claire Farron."

The man bridges the distance between them, the skin of his hand rough and calloused against hers. "Sazh Katzroy. I'm Snow's personal pilot. He's talked about you plenty, but we've never had the chance to meet."

Claire regards the man with a look of surprise and he grins in reply. "I've learned that he's not one to take his work home with him. I'm not surprised he's never brought me up."

"How long have you been working for him?" She asks, always willing to learn more about Snow's job – his eagerness to speak of the few things the Cavalry  _did_ allow had never happened, even after her and Serah were no longer children.

"Past four years or so, I'd say." Sazh takes another drink from his bottle and Claire sips at her wine, nearly missing the dark look that flashes across his face as he speaks. "Good man, Snow. Found me when I was nearly ready to quit flying and brought me on. Wouldn't let up until I caved in."

"He does have a tendency to be pretty stubborn," Claire agrees with a small, fond smile and the two lapse into a not quite awkward, not quite companionable silence.

"Hey," he interrupts it after several moments, and his dark eyes meet hers as she glances towards him. "That thing you're worried about – don't drive yourself crazy over it. If you want kids, then go for it. You'll never be prepared enough, and never as prepared as you think you are."

There is still tension in Claire's stomach, the sort that won't go away with alcohol and stems from pure fear – it trembles at his words, and she grimaces. "That's not very reassuring."

Sazh laughs and Claire is mature enough to detect the undertones of cynicism that color it. "Parenthood ain't all sunshine rainbows, and it ain't an easy decision, so don't believe anyone who tells you otherwise." His eyes linger on the bottles of whisky lining the wall before them, his lips pulled downwards in a grimace. "But," he continues after a moment, and the lines of his face smooth themselves out as the grimace turns into the barest hint of a smile, "if parenthood is what you want, then kids are a blessing. A scary one, of course, but a blessing nonetheless. You think you know all there is about the world and then they come along and  _bam_ , it's almost like you never lived at all."

Claire's mind flashes to Hope and her fingers around her wineglass tighten, her shoulders easing some of her tension away. "Yeah, I've experienced something like that before," she says, and hesitates before continuing – she almost imagines something linking her to this stranger; not the alcohol, but something beyond her, and Claire believes in souls and so she puts it towards a tugging at her entire being, almost as if she is calling out to an old friend. "How can you ever be ready for something like that? That's an entire person suddenly depending  _entirely_ on you." She downs what remains of her wine, and as it warms the inside of her throat she thinks briefly, as she sometimes does –  _would that have been me and Serah, if Snow and Hope weren't there? If I had no choice but to protect Serah? What would I have done? Would I have even succeeded?_

"They become your entire world," the pilot agrees with her, rotating the bottle in his hands as he does so. His eyes stare beyond their surroundings now, and she can tell from the look on his face that he is seeing something she cannot. "It's not that hard to make them happy when they do."

"And if something happens to them?" Claire asks, her voice catching in her throat – that fear inside of her growls, the remnants of her mother's death a creeping darkness that colors any potential motherhood with fright. She remembers the grieving on her end; she cannot imagine it from the other side.

Sazh is silent, and when he speaks his voice is quiet and sounds like her fears put to light. "If they get torn away from you, your entire world disappears… but every moment with them leading up to it is worth the possible pain, because they love you like no other person ever has. And you love them like no other person in the world. There is no experience that can make up for that."

Claire does not know the grief of losing a child, but she knows the grief of losing a mother. The mood between them is one of stillness and pain, of nostalgia. Claire stares at the bottom of her glass, where the last few drops of wine remain sparkling under the artificial light. "Thank you, Sazh."

"Don't worry 'bout it," the man replies and when she looks up at him he has an amused smile on his face. "Never been one for heavy talks with a stranger, but there's something about you that made is so damn easy." He chuckles in a self-deprecating manner and reaches up to rub at the back of his head. "Hope I didn't ruin your expectations of parenthood too much for you."

 _He hadn't_ , Claire realizes; somewhere during their conversation, even though the physical fear remained, her mind had been eased. "You didn't," she tells him. They fall into silence again, this one more companionable than awkward now, and if Claire believed in other lives, she would have said this man and her may have been friends there.

"You don't regret it," she breaks it at last, and her words are a statement and not a question.

"I had a little boy," Sazh confirms and without looking at him, she knows he's wearing the bittersweet look of love lost that she's sported more than once after the loss of her mother. Familiar, but not quite the same, too. "I wouldn't change it for the world. If given the chance, I would do it all over again."

* * *

 

.

.

* * *

 

Their first daughter is born to them when Claire is twenty seven and comes out with a shock of fluffy pink hair and Hope's green eyes, and Hope cries a little when he sees her and Snow's first gift to the newborn is a miniature fishing rod (Hope cries a little to that too, but with more laughter, and Claire and Serah just exchange confused looks together).

They name her Vanille, as per Hope's wish years ago, and sometimes Claire catches him looking at their daughter the same way her mother used to look at the portrait of their dead father in the living room. Always alone, as if he is afraid to share the burden that hunches his shoulders and lingers behind his eyes.

She asks him about it once, about the way he'll softly hold their daughter and hum an unfamiliar lullaby as she slumbers. He doesn't exactly answer the question, just embraces her and confesses into her hair, "I'm afraid of seeing her get lost in this world. I'm afraid of not being able to protect her when she needs it."

Claire's arms tighten around his torso. "Me, too," she whispers and her words get caught in his shirt, her heart trembling at the thought of the small girl sleeping inside her cot beside them ever coming to harm. "But we'll protect her. I promise."

"I promise," Hope echoes her and then so quietly that she almost doesn't catch it –

"I'll protect you both, this time."

* * *

 

.

.

* * *

 

 _I'll protect you both, this time_ , her husband's words haunt her in her sleep and the dreamscape ground beneath her feet trembles. A voice in the wind calls her name, reedy and distant yet all encompassing.

 _Claire Farron_ , it bids – a force of nature against her humanity, whipping her this way and that as the ground falls away and she descends through a grey sky _._

_Bring me the truth, Claire Farron, and destroy that which ends us._


	12. The One With The Last First (and a First)

The last time she sees Hope Villiers - her husband, her best friend, the father of her child - is when she is twenty nine and the world around her is falling.

It had started as a barely noticeable tremor - she had been in the office and glanced down at her coffee cup and saw it wobbling; the glass containing her family photo was rattling against the frame right beside it. The pen she had put down against her book rolled over to its side, just by a margin.

And then the shaking underneath her feet started, and with it, so did everything else.

Her mind doesn't register the situation for the first singular moment - she sees the books toppling off the bookshelves and then the shelves from the walls themselves, and the odd knick knacks she has collected over the years coming down onto the floor with a ruckus. Claire watches a glass sculpture of Cocoon - beautiful and one of a kind, custom made for her by Hope's request for their first anniversary (Serah had joked it looked like the engagement pendants she sometimes stared longingly at) be hurled from its perch on a shelf and shatter into hundreds of little pieces.

Outside, through the open windows, comes the first scream. It is a prelude to all the others that follow, a chorus of fear as their world trembles and thrashes.

_Vanille_ , the thought passes through Claire's mind and she wakes from her trance with a horror that dawns quickly and painfully.

"Vanille!" She yells out her daughter's name and bolts out of the room towards the bedroom, dodging falling furniture and decorations with adrenaline fueled reflexes. A particularly large picture frame falls against her and she raises her arms to cover her face, almost failing to register the sharp cuts that form along her skin from the broken glass. She can hear Vanille's crying now, increasing in pitch the closer she gets.

Her daughter reaches for her from her crib with a red, tear stained face and nonstop wailing. Claire swoops her out and cuddles her as close to her body as possible with rushed reassurances - "Mommy's here, Vanille, it'll be okay now," she promises with a rising despair. The doorframe above them begins to crumble right as Claire runs for the exit and she presses Vanille closer, refusing to stop and shielding the girl with her body. A beam topples over in the living room and Claire had never realized how absolutely  _fragile_  her house was.

She makes it outside only to see the sky rain down debris.

_All of Cocoon is crumbling_ , the realization strikes her.

"It's finally happened," one of her neighbors sobs out from her porch beside Claire's, staring skyward. "Those damn Pulsians are attacking us. There's nothing we can do."

And then the houses behind them cave inwards, and a hole opens up where her neighbor had just been not even seconds before and the woman disappears into it with not even enough time to scream.

Claire watches this all with horror that does not register, her body frozen with fear. She does not know how much time passes as she stands rooted to her spot, Vanille crying against her chest and her entire world falling down around her. Thoughts jumble themselves up inside her brain –  _Hope, Serah, Snow—_

Someone grips her shoulder and spins her around. Hope's face appears before hers and his familiar voice shouts her name.

"Hope," the word comes out strangled and choked. "Hope, what's going on?"

"We have to get out of here." Hope's face is also tear stained, the trails wet against his dusty face and Claire briefly wonders how fast and through what he had to run to get from what she presumes is his abandoned car on his way home from work.

"Go where?" She questions as he grabs one of her hands - the other still supporting Vanille - and tugs her along. The gravity field within Cocoon has begun to fail, from the inside out, and the objects that have been descending at a steady pace above them now begin to plummet down. A half of a car crashes onto the road right before them and Claire screams.

"We need to get to Pulse—"

"Pulse!? Aren't they the ones responsible for this?"

Hope pauses in his frantic tugging, spinning around to look at her with such desperation and pain in his eyes that she instinctively grips his hand around hers tighter. "No, Claire," he manages to get out past the tears gathering in his eyes. "Pulse has nothing to do with this. I'm sorry, Claire, Snow and I tried to stop him -  _Orphan_  – but we must have  _missed something—_ " he chokes back a sob, his voice faltering as he begins shaking.

"We need to go, we need to do  _something_  - we need to find Snow, he has a way for us to get off Cocoon-"

And then comes an abrupt sound, like the ripping of the fabric of the world itself and for a moment, all is silent - the world around them slows and Claire can see Hope before her so clearly, clad in his Sanctum research uniform and hair littered with dust; his eyes, so familiar to her ever since she was a little girl and he, her annoying teenage neighbor, staring into hers with absolute heartbreak and affection.

"Claire-" he says her name again before the ripping sound spreads and nothing short of a hole in the space behind him opens up, a figure looming through it. Claire has the time to register the pink hair and tight black armor clad around the woman floating behind her husband before the stranger opens her mouth, and with the hole still behind her, speaks-

"HOPE ESTHEIM," she intones her husband's name by a family name Claire has never heard before, the voice not unlike thunder. Her face is emotionless, the eyes covered by a strange mask. "YOU HAVE FAILED."

A pregnant moment of silence descends down upon them before her husband cranes his neck over his shoulder by just the tiniest bit. "Lightning," her husband breathes out the name in awe, a tremble in his voice as he does so and Claire suddenly remembers - remembers all the strange names and conversations she's been meaning to ask him about but never did _, what do you mean the world ended_  and  _Lightning_ -

Claire thinks she understands, she thinks she doesn't; the ground beneath her feet is still shaking, and Vanille is bawling against her shirt. The world resumes its regular pace and then the pink haired woman's hands are on Hope's shoulders lurching him away from Claire and into the hole in the air-

"No!" The man yells out as his hand drops hers and the figure - this  _Lightning_  - locks her arms around his chest. "Claire, no—"

He falls in with the phantom, the hole closing behind them as they disappear and the world around Claire is still shaking, the great monster of Cocoon caving in on itself—

* * *

.

.

* * *

Claire first meets the new neighbours when she is seven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bonus chapter has been uploading alongside this one. Please make sure to read it before posing any questions.


	13. The Nightmare of Claire Farron

Claire dreams a nightmare of rolling darkness and a young girl's bodiless voice in her ear, cruel and empty. "Your sister is dead because of you."

The world of the dream breaks and Claire falls through a grey sky, a grey ocean, a grey city. It is a never ending fight as she is eternally caught in a descent with no matter to prevent her from losing against gravity.

When she does finally land it is on a moving train, her hands bound by metal handcuffs and a stiff hood drawn over her face. Claire cranes her neck upwards and glimpses a flash of a red cape, a weapon whizzing through the air and then a crystal figure reaching out for her. Serah's frozen face stares back at her, sorrowful and timeless. Claire blinks and it is her own face reflected back now, mouth agape in horror; she blinks again and the universe expands before her gaze. Twin giggles circle above her head and she follows them, feathery wings descending around her like a halo before she registers the crystal spike jutting out of her abdomen.

She gurgles on the blood rushing to her throat and chokes out a name - perhaps Serah's, or Hope's, or a strange word brimming with malevolence.  _Bhunivelze._

The victor in their battle laughs, certain of her defeat. She slumps over in pain with anger coursing through her veins - she did not come this far only to fail now—!

A light show bursts to life behind her, souls teeming with energy as they escape her dying body.  _She will not fail._

The voices of those dead dear to her call her name, give her their strength and purpose.  _Go_.

She knows what she must do. A decision, a crack in time and infinity both stretched far and receding into itself; a conundrum, she splits open the fabric and bids farewell to that which makes her human.

A loop; she is the ouroboros. Possibilities lay them self open before her, the truth hidden within one of them; her soul will not rest, consuming its own self to discover it.

_The truth. The truth._

The universe recedes and she falls through a grey world, a grey city with an empty throne.  _You must control the Chaos now_ , the Goddesses of the dead whisper to her.  _This is how it must be. You have taken our place. Join us, Goddess.  
_  
_The truth. Bring us the truth, Claire Farron, and destroy that which ends us.  
_  
Darkness. A multitude of blue haired girls – they are children, old crones, witches; and those who held on, broken and bound by their grief and despair. Their grief for two women, tied together by death and eternal sleep;  _find us, bring me the truth, and you shall be set free.  
_  
Their choice, theirs alone – it is made.  _The truth is the answer, your journey begins_. She is the harbinger and plays time to her tune and they are gone, souls calling to souls – family, lovers, friends. She will not rest - not be allowed rest - until they bring before her the one true world. Her soul churns, calls out to its mirrors across infinity; she is the dream, she is the dreamer; she begun and she will finish. A Goddess.

She is one, she is them all; the soldier, the martyr, the orphan, the citizen, the mother - endless possibilities of what she is, she was, she could be, she never was. She calls to them within their dreams, bids them the story of creation and the conclusion not allowed to be written; and she draws back upon the waking touch, her limits tested, and waits for the truth to come to her.

Waiting. Ever waiting, ever searching for the end.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: So. This is the end. To all of those who have made it this far to read this note, thank you for sticking with me for the past several months. To everyone that has left comments or stopped by to put this on their alert lists, thank you for giving me the drive to keep going with this. A big thank you to all those who have chatted with me and left their own theories as to where I was taking this story, letting me indulge in raving about my feelings on this game series and characters in general. Below, if you are interested, I have compiled a small section of questions I am sure people have had pop up while reading my story. If there is something not answered here, or not to your satisfaction, feel free to ask about it! I will undoubtedly enjoy answering.
> 
> So, without further ado, starting with probably the most burning question…
> 
> What happened to Lightning and co.?
> 
> As the chapter above implies – as does the summary of the story – Lightning failed to defeat Bhunivelze. In the final moments she did become what Bhunivelze intended for her to be, a Goddess that has taken over Valhalla with the blessing of Etro and Mwynn and has left behind her humanity to take control over the power of bending time. The souls of Hope and Snow, as the two linked the most to both Serah and Lightning, volunteered to undertake the journey to try and "fix" the timeline/find the proper timeline where Lightning succeeds in her quest and Bhunivelze is defeated. Until the "true" world, where Bhunivelze is dead, is discovered, their souls will be thrown around and neither they nor Lightning will be afforded rest.
> 
> Is this the first time Hope and Snow appear in a different universe?
> 
> The way the characters wrote themselves, especially Hope, I personally believe so.
> 
> What were Hope and Snow trying to do to stop Orphan?
> 
> Snow began his work specifically with the Cavalry, and Snow in the Sanctum to try and bring down the Primarch's reign – as well as the fal'Cie's rule – behind the scenes; they managed to delay Orphan by a few years, but ultimately failed. Their exact work was never something I lingered on, since this is written in Claire's perspective, but I imagine it would have been a lot less violent and brash than what they had to do in the game.
> 
> Are the Claire and Serah of this world dead?
> 
> Yes. The Cocoon of this universe has been destroyed.
> 
> What happened to Snow and Hope?
> 
> They have been pulled out by Lightning (less Lightning, more Goddess now) and thrown into another universe.
> 
> What happened to everyone else from the original crew? Also, how did Snow and Hope not run into this universe's version of themselves?
> 
> Fang and Vanille were both captured and most likely executed. Dajh was featured briefly in a TV report (with Jihl!) and fulfilled his focus as a Cocoon l'Cie. Sazh prominently featured as Snow's personal pilot. As for the second question, I tried to heavily imply in chapter 7 with the woman talking to Claire in the bar being Nora Estheim, who mentions that "she was meant to have a boy but it didn't work out" that as soon as Snow and Hope appeared in this universe, it altered its own history (theoretically spanning another universe) in which both Hope and Snow were never born.
> 
> And that is all I can think of to include here. As I mentioned, if you have any more questions, please feel free to leave a review asking! Thank you again for sticking around and reading A Series of Firsts. It has been a blast writing it.


	14. BONUS: HOPE ESTHEIM

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus chapter time because I know people wanted this, and because I found myself writing it despite telling myself I would take a break. Thank you all once again for sticking with me through this story!

He opens his eyes, and the Savior before him is dying.

Or perhaps his eyes have always been open and it is only now that he sees; he is uncertain, his existence clouded and abstract. Does he have a body? Does he have a soul? Is he a soul?

A feeling somewhere from within stirs as he watches the Savior choke on the blood filling her lungs. A crystal stem juts out from her abdomen, reflecting the pinprick light of stars and his eyes; and a face, one that is unfamiliar.

The feeling grows, fuelled by the surprise garnered by his reflection. He does not know this face - it is not his. Who is he? Who's reflection is in the crystal?

The Savior uses her last breath to utter names of the dead; bemused, he listens.

 _Hope. Serah._  A pause, a hitch of her breath.  _Bhunivelze._

Unease churns further within him as her eyes bear hatred into him. He knows the names. He is one of the names - but which one? He is uncertain. His existence is convoluted. He is one, he is both, he is all. All what? Who is he?

The Savior wavers on her knees, the crystal sliding further through her body. The opposite end peeks out between her shoulder blades at the angle it sits impaled at; her eyes flicker with resolve. He laughs, certain of her defeat. The Goddess is dead. He is victorious once more.

The names burrow themselves into his mind and dig viciously for his core - he is one of them, he is certain. But which name belongs to him?

The Savior's eyes dim, her skin clammy and white beneath the faint light of the stars and his radiance. He can trace the map of veins along her smooth neck, rushing to keep her alive. Her gaze seems to find  _his_ , and not of the one in the reflection.

"Hope," she repeats a name, her mouth choking each letter to the brim with regret. "I'm sorry."

The Savior falls and Hope Estheim remembers - from within Bhunivelze's body he screams out his despair, his rage. He beats against the prison holding him captive.

"Lightning!" His voice cracks as he calls out her name, watching her body as it slumps forward and stills. "No!"

His tears choke him as he howls. No! No! This can't be real! Claire!

From within her body bursts a light show of brilliant white - souls escaping their final vessel. They pulse in response to his anguish, the agony of their loss as brilliant as them.

 _Go!_  They call out to the body whose own soul slowly seeps away.  _We will not fail!_

Bhunivelze's laughter stills, and so does Hope - they both watch as the souls pulse as one and then there is a tug at Hope, pulling him away - Bhunivelze cries out in rage,  _Mwynn, Etro, curse you_ -

* * *

.

.

* * *

He opens his eyes, and the Goddess before him adorns her throne.

The colors of her are the only vibrance in this grey world of ruin; the pink of her hair shines, the creaminess of her skin akin to untouched marble. She is adorned in black, the eyes he once knew to be steady yet stubborn covered by a mask. He feels anguish - she is alive. She is dead. His soul cannot properly comprehend.

Beside him, a figure wreathed in light appears and lands heavily on its feet. It towers above him even when hunched over, falling on all fours the moment it materializes.

"We failed," Snow's soul chokes out to the cold ground, beset in the form Hope remembers him. Tears pattern the dusty stone and color it a near black.

The Goddess does not shift on her throne, does not acknowledge the tragedy that lies behind her almost-brother-in-law's words. She is as dead as can be - immortal. "Bring me the truth," she intones and her voice is not unlike thunder, reverberating through the ruined temple of her predecessors. "And destroy that which ends us."

Silence descends on them, broken only by Snow's sobbing. Hope realizes that her words are a request and not an order. Despite himself, a spark of hope flutters within him.

His hand finds Snow's shoulder beside him and he grips tight into the muscles corded there. "We accept," he responds to the Goddess wearing the face of Lightning Farron, not daring to call her by the name he once cherished her by. He holds back the tremble in his voice, taking upon himself the fate of the world once more. Humanity's hope.

The Goddess inclines her head in the smallest of nods, everything about her as smooth and emotionless as the stone around them. "Do not fail, Hope Estheim."

* * *

.

.

* * *

He opens his eyes. A beach stretches out before him, ocean waves lapping at the edges and a pier leading into the distance some ways off. A seagull flies overhead somewhere, cawing.

His body tingles. The world is wrong. The smell of briar in the air is not as it should be - the waves are synchronized in their cresting, all equal in size. The sand beneath his feet looks a perfect yellow with not a speck out of place.

"Bodhum," comes the bitter word beside him as Snow takes in the scenery. Hope cranes his head behind them and sees the houses lining the streets there, the trees all identical and lush with greenery, and suppresses a shudder. He has not remembered the wrongness of the artificial Cocoon for a very long time.

"So," Snow comments, taking in the view with a twisted grimace. Hope looks up at him, once again far too short for his aging soul - there is knowledge present within their heads - a schematic, supplemented by a wallet digging into the inside of Hope's cargo shorts. The feeling of being abstract, of simply being with no physical limits lingers for them both, a ghost receding into what is neither the past nor future, but simply a state of being where the Goddess now keeps an eye on them. "Brothers, huh?"

The man reaches out a closed fist towards Hope, knuckles first. The boy knocks against it with his own. "Brothers," he agrees with a bitterness in his voice, and the two begin walking.

* * *

.

.

* * *

Hope's heart breaks at the sight of the rose haired child glaring suspicious daggers into his eyes from the safety of her mother's side.

She is so young.

"Claire Farron" rolls off her tongue so naturally for her, so alien to him. He is suddenly afraid of the future they are meant to inflict on her.

_I'm sorry. It will be different this time, I swear it._

* * *

.

.

* * *

He goes on to attend the prestigious Eden University, a feat he vaguely and with some amusement recalls had always been a goal for him before the whole l'Cie fiasco. The memories of his past life remain a blurry presence in the back of his mind for the most part; it is at night that the nightmares strike with vicious claws that burrow into his sleep and force him to relive both reality and fiction. He wakes up in cold sweat more often than not, going into the kitchen to rummage for warm milk and typically finding an equally hollow eyed Snow already sitting there.

Who, through the sheer force of his will and personality - of which there are a lot of, considering the man once ruled Yusnaan through the literal chaos and world's end - has managed to secure an entry position within the Cavalry unit. Snow breaks the news to him with a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, but has a trace of hope in his voice when he mentions that he passed by an officer by the name of Cid Raines -  _we will make a difference from behind the curtain this time_ , Snow vows. In the beginning they decide to compile a list (one that they burn after memorizing) of all the events that would require change within this new world, uncertain which one of those - major or minor, within the next ten years or in another hundred - would be the catalyst leading to Bhunivelze's defeat. Within the first is, of course, the situation of soon-to-be-orphaned Claire and Serah.

Elize Farron is dying, slowly but surely; Hope can see it as bright as day. Old age had not taken anyone from him in the past several hundred years but he recalls terminal sickness with a stark clarity, having seen more than one case of it as the newly Chaos-full world changed entire ecosystems to adapt. He lets himself be distracted by the crush little twelve-year-old Claire has suddenly developed for him (which is better than her petulant childhood years where she strove to one up him at every turn) but soon enough he is standing with her at Bodhum's graveyard, wrapping her small body with his and promising all the support he can.

That night, as Snow rushes to fill out and submit proper paperwork for the girls, Hope shifts in his bed and stares at the ceiling all night long. His stomach churns with every small, nervous twitch of his body.

The pebble had been dropped in the water long ago, but only now he knows the ripples are big enough to take notice. The first, possible change to change the future into a better world.

He dreams of Lightning that night once he does finally slip into a fitful rest; a vision he knows cannot be real, since upon her throne of crystal as the newly anointed Goddess, she smiles warmly at him and beckons to the younger Claire that stands at the foot of her throne.

"Take care of her," she tells him, in a voice not that of the Goddess but of the woman she once was, so very dear to him. It is only because he knows her so well, so intimately that he knows he is capable of projecting her visage to such a perfection, her words to ones she knows he would tell her.

"Don't let her become me, Hope."

They relocate to Eden a short while later, far away from the slumbering Anima Serah had so foolishly encountered once. Hope dares to breathe a small sigh of relief.

* * *

.

.

* * *

When Claire Farron is seventeen she corners him in their house and kisses him. Corners might not be the right word for it, but to Hope, that is what it feels like – the girl with her lips pressed against his in the clumsy teenage attempt ( _what does he know about kissing, though_ , the thought passes through his brain) is seventeen and undoubtedly underage and, undoubtedly, not Lightning Farron.

She pulls away eventually from his still body and he shakes his head at her and tells her, "You're seventeen, Claire," and when she runs out on him he doesn't tell her:  _you are not the woman I love. You will never be the woman I love._

His stomach churns with the realization he's been pushing off for so long, now no longer lurking in the back corners of his mind. He barely makes it to the toilet before his stomach empties its contents and he sits there sprawled on the tiles, staring at the swirling water, running the thought through his mind:

_Lightning Farron is dead. There will never be another Lightning Farron, twisted into existence by the loneliness of Claire Farron, because I will not let it happen._

"I won't let her become you, Light," he promises to the empty house around him. There comes no answer.

Lightning Farron is dead. There is only the Goddess now.

* * *

.

.

* * *

He sees his parents once, when he is walking through Eden one morning. He turns the corner to the street market and suddenly they are just  _there_ , exactly the way he remembers them to be – laughing together as they peruse Eden's wares, no trace of a care around them. No l'Cie son to be afraid of –  _for_ – and most importantly, no dead Nora.

Hope had looked up their files as soon as he was able to covertly at his job, of course. As he watches them, recalling the fact that there was no Hope Estheim born to this world – a miscarriage late into the pregnancy – they have a perfectly normal, brilliant daughter now with brown hair and his father's eyes, he thinks with sudden clarity:

_Hope Estheim is dead, too. Hope Estheim never existed in this world; he perished in his mother's womb._

_There is only Hope Villiers now._

* * *

.

.

* * *

Claire introduces Cid Raines as her boyfriend to her family soon after and when Snow comes over to Hope's apartment and breaks the news with a degree of awe, Hope listens quietly and does not offer much commentary. Snow slips into the usual work ramblings and Cavalry plans and his ever present optimism about the future and leaves with a small bounce in his step, because Claire is almost twenty-one and last time it was then that she became a l'Cie, but they are not at Bodhum now and have no plans to attend the fireworks this year and  _it will be different this time, Hope_ —

 _Hope Estheim is dead_ , Hope muses as he cleans up the dinner table afterwards, putting the dishes methodically into the sink.  _Hope Estheim never had a brother, and did not grow up to attend Eden University or acquire a job within the Sanctum. Hope Estheim tried to save the world and failed._

He grips the ceramic plate in his hands until his knuckles turn white.  _Hope Villiers will not fail. He can't. He won't._

His mind flashes back to the news about Cid and Claire and he lingers there for several moments, trying to untangle the knot of emotions that rise up within him at the thought. Relief and joy because Claire has this chance for normality, and envy, because a part of him also wanted his own normality with  _her—_

He cuts off the train of thought before it can finish. The plate in his hands cracks.

* * *

.

.

* * *

They miss the fireworks but of course some poor fool still stumbles upon Anima, and Fang and Vanille's faces are plastered all over the news dubbed as terrorists and Hope doesn't need to see their faces to remember the absolute  _terror_  all of them had felt at that point in their lives. The chase continues for an entire week, during which him and Snow come to arguing many times as Snow has suddenly realized that  _nothing has changed_ , which Hope vehemently disagrees with.

"We have Serah with us, and Claire." His voice breaks. "We have  _Claire_."

Snow stares up at him with hollow eyes, face warped by grief. The graying in his hair suddenly stands out so much more clearly to Hope.

"Dinner's ready!" Serah's call comes from the kitchen and breaks them out of their reverie. The grief on his friend's – brother's – face fades as he pushes his chair back and stands, closing his eyes for several long moments to compose himself.

"You're right," he eventually says, his hands clenched into fists on top of the desk. "We have them. And we'll do anything to keep them from coming to harm."

Hope lingers on these words when the news report the capture (and subsequent execution, he doesn't doubt) of Fang and Vanille. They had all known what they were giving up, in that moment their souls escaped from Lightning as she stood dying and gave themselves to make her rise as the Goddess – they knew that their alternate selves would perish more than once, that the chances of them all living again were very slim. And yet they still did it.

Hope remembers that warmth, the caress of his friends' presence as they surged around him and with him into Lightning.  _Go. We give ourselves for you, for the future._

He buries his head in the pillow and summons up that memory, that warmth.  _I'm sorry I couldn't save you, too._

* * *

.

.

* * *

Snow tracks down Sazh immediately after Dajh's crystallized form makes headlines and strong arms him into becoming his personal pilot – for Snow has risen through the ranks, and has his own private cruiser ship, of all things. Hope almost bursts into hysterical laughter when he meets the man, who is all but wringing his hands nervously at the prospect of meeting his new, very important client's little brother (no doubt still influenced by Dajh as well, for Hope has rarely seen Sazh's confidence this shaken).

He almost asks where the chocobo who had nested in Sazh's hair is. He keeps his mouth shut.

* * *

.

.

* * *

Hope Villiers wakes up one day and lying there in the light of Phoenix, half asleep with half formed thoughts floating through his mind, thinks of Claire's smile.

He calls in sick to work that day and tries to bury his head in the ground once more, to escape the thoughts of Claire and how he was mistaken, he loved Lightning once but Claire  _was_ Lightning, not the woman he remembered Light to be but at her core they were one and the same, because Lightning was formed by Claire's grief but she was also  _Claire_ , underneath it all, and Hope loved  _her—_

He drives himself insane that day, all but making a list of pros and cons to confessing to Claire, still in her relationship with Cid. He does not want to interfere but he had been selfless so often, and for once, he  _wants_ to be selfish, to at least give her the choice because  _he loves her_  and love has never been entirely selfless.

The confession goes better than he planned (which he didn't, because he certainly did  _not_ plan on kissing her while leaning over a couch they had just carried up several flights of stairs, sweaty and out of breath) in the sense that she does not physically force him out the door, telling him to never come back. In fact, she had remained scarily calm and he was the one to leave her, sitting on that stupid couch.

Snow's the one to tell him of the breakup some time later. He agonizes for another day about whether or not he should go see her, and in the end he does, because that is what love does to people – when she struggles for words to say to him, standing on the threshold of her front door, he is not surprised by the fact that he does need her words to understand all that she wants to tell him. He understands her because she was Lightning, once, but mostly because she has always been  _Claire_. And Hope has always loved the woman underneath the moniker.

"I know," he tells her, softly, and they both know that it is both an  _I'm sorry_ and an  _I love you_. She hesitates, then, and opens the door for him.

He steps through.

Hope Estheim is dead, but Hope Villiers is alive and hopelessly in love with the woman that is Claire Farron. And he will change the future.

* * *

.

.

* * *

Snow and Serah take the news well, Serah more so than Snow, who pulls him aside from the two sisters and stands there silently, searching for the words he wants to say.

"It's fine," Hope speaks for him, smiling up at his friend and brother and confidant; the smile is more bitterness than happiness, the smile of a man who has lived for as long as he has and carries the world on his shoulders. "I will always love her, no matter what name she takes. I love  _Claire_ , Snow, even when she was Lightning. It's just taken me an absurdly long time to realize this."

"She will never be Lightning," Snow tells him quietly, gauging him with cautious eyes. "We won't allow that. Do you understand that?"

"Yes," Hope answers and doesn't say  _more than you know_ , because Snow  _does_ know – because he will never be with Serah again. Because that is the sacrifice he has made, the one that Hope has not been forced into.

The two men tasked with saving the future smile at each other then, the corners lurking with grief and irony, and return to their normal lives.

* * *

.

.

* * *

They marry and it is the happiest day of Hope Villier's life, second only to when their daughter is born – she has Claire's pink hair and his green eyes and they name her Vanille, and Snow's first gift to her is a miniature fishing rod that Hope spends far more time than appropriate laughing over. He catches his wife's eye and the strange look on her face and wonders, as he sometimes does and then tries not to,  _what does Claire know?_

He hums wordless Pulsian lullabies that Vanille once hummed to  _him_ on the wild plains of Pulse to his daughter, and promises her –  _I'll protect both this time. I promise._

* * *

.

.

* * *

Failure looks a lot like Cocoon falling and Snow's frantic call in his ear, about the Primarch and Orphan and the airship waiting to take them to Pulse, away from the destruction, but as Hope vaults over debris all he can think of is _Claire, Vanille—_

He finds Claire standing in the front yard of their house, a crying Vanille clutched to her chest and a gaping hole where their neighbor's house once used to be. The ground beneath him trembles as he catches her shoulder and turns her around, her eyes glazed by panic as she says his name.

"What's going on?" She asks him and he wishes he had the time to explain  _everything_ , all the things he had kept secret; perhaps that was the secret to preventing this outcome from happening, perhaps Claire herself was the key in an entirely different way than they had thought, perhaps, perhaps,  _perhaps._

Time slows and from behind him comes the sound of the fabric of time itself being ripped open. He does not need to turn around to know who it is that lingers behind him now, but he does so anyway with a degree of awe as he glimpses the black armor once more, the pale face covered by a visor and the pink hair curling so perfectly over one shoulder.

"Lightning," he breathes the name of the Goddess, and within his chest his heart stutters.

"HOPE ESTHEIM," the Goddess intones and his mind thinks, rapid fast,  _Hope Estheim is dead_  as she continues, "YOU HAVE FAILED."

The words do not register at first but time has resumed in the world and he wrenches his head back towards Claire, who is both a reflection of the woman behind him and an entirely different Claire Farron, and as Lightning's arms lock around him he tries to lurch forward towards his wife and child, his voice breaking as he registers Claire's face blurring as he is pulled back into the void—

"Claire, no—!"

Darkness and silence. The universes spin, a kaleidoscope being shaken into patterns. One cannot cry when one is not dead, not yet alive.

* * *

.

.

* * *

He opens his eyes. A beach stretches out before him, ocean waves lapping at the edges and a pier leading into the distance some ways off. A seagull flies overhead somewhere, cawing.

His body tingles. The world feels wrong,  _he_ feels wrong, as if he is forgetting something important.

"Bodhum," comes Snow's bitter voice beside him and something sparks within Hope's brain, his heart lurching painfully and it all comes  _rushing back_ —

"No," he sobs out as he falls to the perfect sand and fists his hands in it, digging into the ground. "No, no, no, no—"

They have failed. The Goddess has chosen to restart once more. His tears color the sand and he clenches his eyes shut, forces the memories away that sweep him up beneath their current. He does not want to remember.

 _YOU MUST,_ the Goddess' voice breaks the sanctity of his frenzied mind, the voice booming and manipulating his limbs under he stands again, swaying under her pressure.  _YOU WILL NOT FAIL. BRING ME THE TRUTH, HOPE ESTHEIM, AND DESTROY THAT WHICH ENDS US._

He walks towards Bodhum a broken man, and through his grief, promises himself—

_This time will be different. I'll save you, I promise._


End file.
